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1  2  3 


1 

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3 

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5 

6 

BCX3KS  BY  ROBERT  BARR 

In  the  Midst  of  Alarms 
The  Face  and  the  Mask 
A  Woman  Intervenes 
One  Day's  Courtship 
Revenge  I 


it 


/ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY 


B  flovel 


PS 


BY 

ROBERT  BARR 

AUTHOR  OF 

"A  Woman  Jnterveaes/*  *'In  the  Midst  of  Alarms,'*  **  The  Face  and 

the  Mask,**  ^  From  Whose  Bourne,'*  **  One  Day's 

Courtship,"  **  Revenge  I "  etc 


SECOND  EDITION 

"  For  the  mutable,  rank-scented  many,  let  them 
Regard  me  as  I  do  not  flatter  y  and 
Therein  behold  themselves" 

CORIOLANUS. 


l^ew  S?orft  anb  Xonbon 

Frederick  A,  Stokes  Company 

PUBLISHERS 


i  !' 


Copyngfht,  J  896 
By  Robert  Barr 


t    ,    '    ,      ,  I 


"  He  that  trusts  you, 
Where  he  should  find  you  lions,  finds  you  hares ; 
Where  foxes,  geese.    You  are  no  surer,  no, 
Than  is  the  coal  of  fire  upon  the  ice, 
Or  hailstone  in  the  sun.    Your  virtue  is, 
To  make  him  worthy,  whose  offence  subdues  him, 
And  curse  that  justice  did  it.     Who  deserves  greatness, 
Deserves  your  hate  :  and  your  affections  are 
A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 
Which  would  increase  his  evil.    He  that  depends 
Upon  your  favours,  swims  with  fins  of  lead. 
And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.     Hang  ye  I 
Trust  ye  ? 

With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind  ; 
And  call  him  noble  that  was  now  your  hate, 
Him  vile,  that  was  now  your  garland." 

Coriolanus, 


\   '*.»• 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 

CHAPTER  I. 


The  office  of  Monkton  &  Hope's  great  factory 
hung  between  heaven  and  earth,  and,  at  the  particular 
moment  John  Sartwell,  manager,  stood  looking  out  of 
the  window  towards  the  gates,  heaven  consisted  of  a 
brooding  London  fog  suspended  a  hundred  feet  above 
the  town,  hesitating  to  fall,  while  earth  was  repre- 
sented by  a  sticky  black-cindered  factory-yard  bearing 
the  imprint  of  many  a  hundred  boots.  The  office 
was  built  between  the  two  huge  buildings  known  as 
the  "  Works."  The  situation  of  the  office  had  evi- 
dently been  an  after-thought — it  was  of  wood,  while 
the  two  great  buildings  which  it  joined  together  as  if 
they  were  Siamese  twins  of  industry,  were  of  brick. 
Although  no  architect  had  ever  foreseen  the  erection 
of  such  a  structure  between  the  two  buildings,  yet 
necessity,  the  mother  of  invention,  had  given  birth  to 
what  Sartwell  always  claimed  was  the  most  conve- 
niently situated  office  in  London.  More  and  more 
room  had  been  acquired  in  the  big  buildings  as  busi- 
ness increased,  and  the  office — the  soul  of  the  whole 
thing — had,  as  it  were,  to  take  up  a  position  outside 
its  body. 

The  addition,  then,  hung  over  the  roadway  that 
passed  between  the  two  buildings;  it  commanded  a 
view  of  both  front  and  back  yards,  and  had,  therefore, 
more  light  and  air  than  the  office  Sartwell  had  for- 
merly occupied  in  the  left-hand  building.  The  unique 
situation  caused  it  to  be  free  from  the  vibration  of  the 
machinery  to  a  large  extent,  and   as  a  door  led  into 


^ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i  t 


I!  : 


each  building,  the  office  had  easy  access  to  both. 
Sartwell  was  very  proud  of  these  rooms  and  their 
position,  for  he  had  planned  them,  and  had  thus  given 
the  firm  much  additional  space,  with  no  more  ground 
occupied  than  had  been  occupied  before — a  most  de- 
sirable feat  to  perform  in  a  crowded  city  like  London. 

Two  rooms  at  the  back  were  set  apart  for  the  two 
members  of  the  firm,  while  Sartwell's  office  in  the  front 
was  three  times  the  size  of  either  of  these  rooms  and 
extended  across  the  whole  space  between  the  two 
buildings.  This  was  as  it  should  be ;  for  Sartwell  did 
three  times  the  amount  of  work  the  owners  of  the 
business  accomplished,  and,  if  it  came  to  that,  had 
three  times  the  brain  power  of  the  two  members  of 
the  firm  combined,  who  were  there  simply  because 
they  were  the  sons  of  their  fathers.  The  founders  of 
the  firm  had  with  hard  work  and  shrewd  management 
established  the  large  manufactory  whose  present  pros- 
perity was  due  to  Sartwell  and  not  to  the  two  men 
whose  names  were  known  to  the  public  as  the  heads 
of  the  business. 

Monkton  and  Hope  wore  timid,  cautious,  somewhat 
irresolute  men,  as  capitalists  should  be  all  the  world 
over.  They  had  unbounded  confidence  in  their  man- 
ager, and  generally  shifted  any  grave  responsibility  or 
unpleasant  decision  to  his  shoulders,  which  bore  the 
burdens  placed  upon  them  with  equanimity.  Sartwell 
was  an  iron  man,  with  firm  resolute  lips,  and  steely 
blue  eyes  that  were  most  disconcerting  to  any  one  who 
had  something  not  quite  straight  to  propose.  Even 
the  two  partners  quailed  under  these  eyes  and  gave 
way  before  them  if  it  came  to  a  conflict  of  opinion. 
Sartwell's  rather  curt  "  It  won't  do,  you  know"  always 
settled  things. 

Sartwell  knew  infinitely  more  about  the  works  than 
they  did ;  for  while  they  had  been  at  college  the 
future  manager  was  working  his  way  up  into  the  con- 
fidence of  their  fathers,  and  every  step  he  took  ad- 
vanced his  position  in  the  factory.    The  three  men 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


were  as  nearly  as  possible  of  the  same  age,  and  the 
hair  of  each  was  tinged  with  grey  ;  Sartwell's  perhaps 
more  than  the  others. 

It  was  difficult  to  think  of  love  in  connection  with 
the  two  partners,  yet  it  is  pleasing  to  know  that  when 
love  did  come  to  them  at  the  proper  time  of  life,  it 
had  come  with  gold  in  one  hand  and  a  rigid  non-con- 
formist conscience  in  the  other.  The  two  had  thus 
added  wealth  to  wealth  by  marrying,  and,  as  their 
wives  were  much  taken  up  with  deeds  of  goodness, 
done  only  after  strict  and  conscientious  inve^  tigation, 
so  that  the  unworthy  might  not  benefit,  and  as  both 
Monkton  and  Hope  were  somewhat  timorous  men 
who  were  bound  to  be  ruled  by  the  women  they  mar- 
ried some  of  their  wealth  found  its  way  into  the  coffers 
of  struggling  societies  and  organizations  for  the  reliev- 
ing of  distress. 

Thus  there  came  to  impregnate  the  name  of  Monk- 
ton  &  Hope  (Limited)  a  certain  odour  of  sanctity 
which  is  most  unusual  in  business  circles  in  London. 
The  firm,  when  once  got  at,  could  be  counted  on  for  a 
subscription  almost  with  certainty,  but  alas !  it  was 
not  easy  to  get  at  the  firm.  The  applicant  had  to 
come  under  the  scrutiny  of  those  searching  eyes  of 
Sartwell's,  which  had  a  perturbing  habit  of  getting 
right  at  the  heart  of  a  matter  with  astonishing  quick- 
ness ;  and  when  once  he  said  "  It  won't  do,  you  know," 
there  was  no  going  behind  the  verdict. 

A  private  stairway  led  from  the  yard  below  to  the 
hall  in  the  suspended  building  which  divided  the  large 
office  of  the  manager  from  the  two  smaller  private 
rooms  of  the  firm.  This  stairway  was  used  only  by 
the  three  men.  The  clerks  and  the  public  came  in  by 
the  main  entrance,  where  a  watchful  man  sat  behind  a 
little  arched  open  window  over  which  was  painted  the 
word  "  Enquiries." 

Outside  in  the  gloom  the  two  great  lamps  over  the 
gateposts  flared  yellow  light  down  on  the  cindery 
roadway  and  the  narrow  street  beyond.     Through  the 


i 


I!  i 


I      i 
j      i 


li  ' 


4  THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 

wide  open  gateway  into  the  narrov/  stone-paved  street 
poured  hundreds  of  workingmen.  There  was  no  jos- 
tling and  they  went  out  silently,  which  was  unusual. 
It  seemed  as  if  something  hovered  over  them  even 
more  depressing  than  the  great  fog  cloud  just  above 
their  heads.  Sartwell,  alone  in  his  office,  stood  some- 
what back  from  the  window,  unseen,  and  watched 
their  exit  grimly,  sternly.  The  lines  about  his  firm 
mouth  tightened  his  lips  into  more  than  their  custom- 
ary rigidity.  He  noticed  that  now  and  then  a  work- 
man cast  a  glance  at  his  windows,  and  he  knew  they 
cursed  him  in  their  hearts  as  standing  between  them 
and  their  demands,  for  they  were  well  aware  that  the 
firm  would  succumb  did  Sartwell  but  give  the  word. 
The  manager  knew  that  at  their  meetings  their  leader 
had  said  none  was  so  hard  on  workingmen  as  a  work- 
man who  had  risen  from  the  ranks.  Sartwell's  name 
had  been  hissed  while  the  name  of  the  firm  had  been 
cheered ;  but  the  manager  was  not  to  be  deterred  by 
unpopularity,  although  the  strained  relations  between 
the  men  and  himself  gave  him  good  cause  for  anxiety. 

As  he  thought  over  the  situation  and  searched  his 
mind  to  find  whether  he  himself  were  to  blame  in  any 
way,  there  was  a  rap  at  his  door.  He  turned  quickly 
away  from  the  window,  stood  by  his  desk,  and  said 
sharply,  ''Come  in." 

There  entered  a  young  man  in  workman's  dress  with 
his  cap  in  his  hand.  His  face  was  frank,  clear-cut,  and 
intelligent,  and  he  had  washed  it  when  his  work  was 
done,  which  was  a  weakness  not  indulged  in  by  the 
majority  of  his  companions. 

"  Ah,  Marsten,"  said  the  manager,  his  biovv  clearing 
when  he  saw  who  it  was.  "  Did  you  get  that  job  done 
in  time?" 

"  It  was  off  before  half-past  five,  sir." 
"  Right.     Were  there  any  obstacles  thrown  in  your 
way  ?  " 

"  None  that  could  not  be  surmounted,  sir." 

"  Right  again.     That's  the  way  I  like  to  have  things 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


S 


id  street 
s  no  jos- 
unusual. 
em  even 
st  above 
)d  some- 
watched 
his  firm 
custom- 
a  work- 
lew  they 
en  them 
that  the 
ne  word, 
ir  leader 
;  a  work- 
I's  name 
lad  been 
erred  by 
between 
anxiety, 
ched  his 
e  in  any 
quickly 
and  said 

ress  with 

cut,  and 

vork  was 

n  by  the 

clearing 
job  done 


1  in  your 
ve  things 


done.  The  young  man  who  can  accomplish  impossi- 
bilities is  the  man  for  me,  and  the  man  who  gets  along 
in  this  world." 

The  young  fellow  turned  his  cap  over  and  over  in 
his  hands,  and,  although  he  was  evidently  pleased  with 
the  commendation  of  the  manager,  he  seemed  em- 
barrassed.    At  last  he  said,  hesitatingly : 

"  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  on  in  the  world,  sir." 

"Well,  you  may  have  an  opportunity  shortly,"  re- 
plied the  manager. 

Then  he  suddenly  shot  the  question : 

"  Are  you  people  going  to  strike  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so,  sir." 

"  Why  do  you  say  *  afraid  '  ?  Are  you  going  out 
with  the  others,  or  do  you  call  your  soul  your  own  ?  " 

"  A  man  cannot  fight  the  Union  single-handed." 

"  You  are  talking  to  a  man  who  is  going  to." 

The  young  man  looked  up  at  his  master. 

"  With  you  it  is  different,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
backed  by  a  wealthy  company.  Whether  you  win  or 
lose,  your  situation  is  secure.  If  I  failed  the  Union 
in  a  crisis,  I  could  never  get  another  situation." 

Sartwell  smiled  grimly  when  the  young  man  men- 
tioned the  firm.  He  knew  that  there  lay  his  weakness 
rather  than  his  strength,  for  although  the  firm  had 
said  he  was  to  have  a  free  hand,  yet  he  was  certain 
the  moment  the  contest  became  bitter  the  firm  would 
be  panic-stricken.  Then,  if  the  women  took  a  hand 
in,  the  jig  was  up.  If  the  strikers  had  known  on 
which  side  their  bread  was  buttered  they  would  have 
sent  a  delegation  of  their  wives  to  Mrs.  Monkton  and 
Mrs.  Hope.  Rut  they  did  not  know  this,  and  Sartwell 
was  not  the  ma!i  to  show  the  weakness  of  his  hand. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  manager,  **  I  have  the  entire  con- 
fidence of  Mr.  Monkton  and  Mr.  Hope.  I  wonder  if 
the  men  appreciate  that  fact." 

"  Oh  yes,  sir ;  they  know  that." 

"  Now,  Marsten,  have  you  any  influence  with  the 
men  ?  " 


6  THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 

"  Very  little,  I'm  afraid,  sir." 

"If  you  have  any,  now  is  the  time  to  exert  it ;  for 
their  sakes,  you  know,  not  for  mine.  The  strike  is 
bound  to  fail.  Nevertheless  I  don't  forget  a  man  who 
stands  by  me." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"  If  my  comrades  go,  I'll  go  with  them.  I  am  not 
so  sure  that  a  strike  is  bound  to  fail,  although  I  am 
against  it.  The  Union  is  very  strong,  Mr.  Sartwell. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  it  is  the  strongest 
Union  in  London." 

The  manager  allowed  his  hand  to  hover  for  a  mo- 
ment over  a  nest  of  pigeon-holes,  then  he  drew  out  a 
paper  and  handed  it  to  Marsten. 

"  There  is  the  strength  of  the  Union,"  he  said, 
"  down  to  the  seventeen  pounds  eight  shillings  and 
twopence  they  put  in  the  bank  yesterday  afternoon. 
If  you  want  any  information  about  your  Union,  Mars- 
ten,  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you  with  it." 

The  young  man  opened  his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the 
figures. 

"  It  is  a  very  large  sum,"  he  said. 

'*  A  respectable  fighting  fund,"  remarked  Sartwell, 
impartially.  "  But  how  many  Saturdays  do  you  think 
it  would  stand  the  drain  of  the  pay-roll  of  this  estab- 
lishment ?  " 

*'  Not  very  many  perhaps." 

"  It  would  surprise  you  to  know  how  few.  The 
men  look  at  one  side  of  this  question  only,  while  I  am 
compelled  to  look  at  two  sides.  If  any  Saturday 
their  pay  was  not  forthcoming,  they  would  not  be 
pleased,  would  they  ?  Now  I  have  to  scheme  and 
plan  so  that  the  money  is  there  every  Saturday,  and 
besides  there  must  be  enough  more  to  pay  the  firm  for 
its  investment  and  its  risk.  These  little  details  may 
not  seem  important  to  a  demagogue  who  knows  noth- 
ing of  business,  but  who  can  harangue  a  body  of  men 
and  make  them  dissatisfied.  I  should  be  very  pleased 
to  give  him  my  place  here  for  a  month  or  two  while  I 


t( 
tl 

tl 
mi 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY.  7 

took  a  rest,  and  then  we  would  see  whether  he  thought 
there  was  anything  in  my  point  of  view." 

"  Mr.  Sartwell,"  said  Marsten,  looking  suddenly  at 
the  manager,  "  some  of  the  more  moderate  men  asked 
me  to-night  a  similar  question  to  one  of  yours." 

"  What  question  was  that  ?  " 

"  They  asked  if  I  had  any  influence  with  you." 

"  Yes  ?    And  you  told  them ?  " 

"  That  I  didn't  know." 

"Well,  you  will  never  know  until  you  test  the  point. 
Have  you  anything  to  suggest?  " 

"  Many  are  against  a  strike,  but  even  the  more 
moderate  think  you  are  wrong  in  refusing  to  see  the 
delegation.  They  think  the  refusal  seems  high-handed, 
and  that  if  you  were  compelled  to  reject  any  requests 
made,  you  ought  not  to  let  things  come  to  a  crisis 
without  at  least  allowing  the  delegation  to  present  the 
men's  case." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  am  wrong  in  this?  " 

"I  do." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  settle  that  in  a  moment.  You  get 
some  of  the  more  moderate  together — head  the  dele- 
gation yourself.  I  will  make  an  appointment  with 
you,  and  ve  will  talk  the  matter  over." 

The  young  man  did  not  appear  so  satisfied  with 
this  prompt  concession  as  might  have  been  expected. 
He  did  not  reply  for  some  moments,  while  the  elder 
man  looked  at  him  critically,  with  his  back  against  the 
tall  desk. 

At  last  Marsten  spoke : 

"  I  could  not  lead  the  delegation,  being  one  of  the 
youngest  in  the  employ  of  the  firm.  The  secretary 
of  the  Union  is  the  leader  the  men  have  chosen." 

"  Ah  !  The  secretary  of  the  Union.  That  is  quite 
a  different  matter.  He  is  not  in  my  employ.  I  can- 
not allow  outsiders  to  interfere  in  any  business  with 
which  I  am  connected.  I  am  always  willing  to  re- 
ceive my  own  men,  either  singly  or  in  deputation,  and 
that  is  no  small  matter  where   so  many  men  are  at 


8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


work ;  but  if  I  am  to  open  my  office  doors  to  the  out- 
side world — well,  life  is  too  short.  For  instance,  I 
discuss  these  things  with  you,  but  I  should  decline  to 
discuss  them  with  any  man  who  dropped  in  out  of  the 
street." 

"  Yes,  I  see  the  difficulty,  but  don't  you  think  you 
might  make  a  concession  in  this  instance,  to  avoid 
trouble  ?" 

**  It  wouldn't  be  avoiding  trouble,  it  would  merely 
be  postponing  it.  It  would  form  a  precedent,  and  I 
would  have  this  man  or  that  interfering  time  and 
again.  I  would  have  to  make  a  stand  some  time,  per- 
haps when  I  was  not  so  well  prepared.  If  there  is  to 
be  a  fight,  I  want  it  now.  We  need  some  new  machin- 
ery in,  and  we  could  do  with  a  week's  shut-down." 

Marsten  shook  his  head. 

"  The  shut-down  would  be  for  longer  than  a  week," 
he  said. 

"  I  know  that.  The  strike  will  last  exactly  three 
weeks.  At  the  end  of  that  time  there  will  be  no 
Union." 

"  Perhaps  there  will  also  be  no  factory." 

"  You  mean  there  will  be  violence  ?  Very  well.  In 
that  case  the  strike  will  last  but  a  fortnight.  You  see, 
my  boy,  we  are  in  London,  and  there  are  not  only  the 
police  within  a  moment's  call,  but,  back  of  them,  the 
soldiers,  and  back  of  them  again  the  whole  British 
Empire.  Oh  no,  Marsten,  it  won't  do,  you  know,  it 
won't  do." 

*'  The  men  are  very  determined,  Mr.  Sartwell." 

**  All  the  better.  I  like  a  determined  antagonist. 
Then  you  get  things  settled  once  for  all.  I  don't  ob- 
ject to  a  square  stand-up  fight,  but  eternal  haggling 
and  higgling  and  seeing  deputations  and  arbitrations, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  I  cannot  endure.  Let  us 
<no\v  where  we  are,  and  then  get  on  with  our  work." 

"  Then  you  have  nothing  to  propose,  Mr.  Sartwell  ? 
Nothing  conciliatory,  I  mean." 

"  Certainly  I  have.     Let  the  men  request  that  bla- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


tant  ass  Gibbons  to  attend  to  his  secretarial  duties  and 
then  let  a  deputation  from'our  own  workshops  come  up 
and  see  me.  We'll  talk  the  matter  over,  and  if  they 
have  any  just  grievance  I  will  remedy  it  for  them. 
What  can  be  fairer  than  that  ?  " 

"  Its  got  to  be  a  matter  of  principle  with  the  men 
now — that  is,  the  inclusion  of  Gibbons  has.  It  means 
recognizing  of  the  Union." 

"  Oh,  I'll  recognize  the  Union  and  take  off  my  hat 
to  it ;  that  is,  so  far  as  my  own  employees  are  con- 
cerned. But  I  will  not  have  an  outsider,  who  knows 
nothing  of  this  business,  come  up  here  and  spout  his 
nonsense.  It's  a  matter  of  principle  with  me  as  well 
as  with  the  men." 

Marsten  sighed. 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is  nothing  for  it  then  but  a  fight," 
he  said. 

"  Perhaps  not.  One  fool  makes  many.  Think  well, 
Marsten,  which  side  you  are  going  to  be  with  in  this 
fight.  I  left  a  Union,  and  although  I  was  older  than 
you  are  at  the  time,  I  never  repented  it.  It  kept  me 
out  of  employment,  but  not  for  long,  and  they  kept 
me  out  of  it  in  the  very  business  of  which  I  am  now 
manager.  The  Union  is  founded  on  principles  that 
won't  do,  you  know.  Any  scheme  that  tends  to  give 
a  poor  workman  the  same  wages  as  a  good  workman 
is  all  wrong." 

'*I  don't  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Sartwell.  The  only 
hope  for  the  workingman  is  in  combination.  Of 
course  we  make  mistakes  and  are  led  away  by  dema- 
gogues, but  some  day  there  will  be  a  strike  led  by  an 
individual  Napoleon,  and  then  we  will  settle  things 
once  for  all,  as  you  said  a  while  ago." 

Sartwell  laughed,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  that's  your  ambition  is  it  ?  Well,  good  luck 
attend  you,  my  young  Napoleon.  I  should  have 
chosen  Wellington,  if  I  had  been  you.  Good-night. 
I  am  waiting  for  my  daughter,  to  whom  I  foolishly 
gave  permission  to  call  for  me  here  in  a  cab." 


! 
.1    : 


■■ 


1  ■  I'" 
!  I ,  ji 


ill 
'ill 


'ii 


i '  '  t  'P! 
■   .  I  ti'i 


iii 


lO 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Marsten  held  the  hand  extended  to  him  so  long 
that  the  manager  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
The  colour  had  mounted  from  the  young  man's  cheeks 
to  his  brow  and  his  eyes  were  on  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Sartwell,"  he  said,  with  an  effort,  **  I  came  to- 
night to  speak  with  you  about  your  daughter  and  not 
about  the  strike." 

The  manager  dropped  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been 
red-hot,  and  stepped  back  two  paces. 

"  About  my  daughter?  "  he  cried,  sternly.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

Marsten  had  to  moisten  his  lips  once  or  twice  be- 
fore he  could  reply.  His  released  hand  opened  and 
shut  nervously. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  in  love  with  her." 

The  manager  sat  down  in  the  office  chair  beside  his 
table.  All  the  former  friendliness  had  left  his  face, 
and  his  dark  brows  lowered  over  his  keen  eyes,  into 
which  their  usual  cold  glitter  had  returned. 

"  What  folly  is  this  ? "  he  cried,  with  rising  anger. 
"  You  are  a  boy,  and  from  the  gutter  at  that,  for  all 
I    know.     My    daughter  is   but  a   child    yet ;  she    is 

only "     He  paused.     He  had  been  about  to  say 

seventeen  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  married 
her  mother  when  she  was  but  a  year  older. 

Marsten's  colour  became  a  deeper  red  when  the  man- 
ager spoke  so  contemptuously  of  the  gutter.  He 
said  slowly,  and  with  a  certain  doggedness  in  his 
tone : 

"  It  is  no  reproach  to  come  from  the  gutter — the 
reproach  is  in  staying  there.  I  have  left  it,  and  I  don't 
intend  to  return." 

**  Oh,  *  intend  '  !  "  cried  the  manager,  impatiently. 
"  We  all  know  what  is  paved  with  intentions.  Why  ; 
you  have  never  even  spoken  to  the  girl  ! " 

"  No,  but  I  mean  to." 

**  Do  you  ?  Well,  I  shall  take  very  good  care  that 
you  do  not." 

"  What  have  you  against  me,  Mr.  Sartwell  ?  " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


II 


"What  is  there  for  you?  Perhaps  you  will  kindly 
specify  your  recommendations." 

"You  are  very  hard  on  me,  Mr.  Sartwell.  You 
know  that  if  I  came  from  the  gutter,  what  education 
I  have,  I  gave  to  myself.  I  have  studied  hard,  and 
worked  hard.  Does  that  count  for  nothing?  I  have 
a  good  character,  and  I  have  a  good  situation " 

"You  have  not.  I  discharge  you.  You  will  call 
at  the  office  to-morrow,  get  your  week's  money,  and 

go." 

"Oh!  " 

"  Yes,  *  oh  ! '  You  did  not  think  that  of  me,  did 
you?" 

"  I  did  not.'- 

"  Well,  for  once  you  are  right.  I  merely  wish  to 
show  you  how  your  good  situation  depends  on  the 
caprice  of  one  man.  I  have  no  intention  of  discharg- 
ing you.  I  am  not  so  much  afraid  of  you  as  that. 
I'll  look  after  my  daughter." 

Marsten  said  bitterly  : 

"  Gibbons,  ass  as  he  is,  is  right  when  he  says  that  no 
one  is  so  hard  on  a  workman  as  one  who  has  risen  from 
the  ranks.  You  were  no  better  off  than  I  am,  when 
you  were  my  age." 

Sartwell  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  ablaze  with 
anger. 

"  Pay  attention,  young  man,"  he  cried.  "  All  the 
thmgs  you  have  done,  I  have  done.  All  the  things 
you  intend  to  do,  I  have  already  done.  I  have,  in  a 
measure,  educated  myself,  and  I  have  worked  hard 
night  and  day.  I  have  attained  a  certain  position, 
a  certain  responsibility,  and  a  certain  amount  of 
money.  I  have  had  little  pleasure  and  much  toil  in 
my  life,  and  I  am  now  growing  old.  Yet  as  I  look 
back  I  see  that  there  was  as  much  luck  as  merit  in 
what  success  I  have  had.  I  was  ready  when  the  chance 
came,  that  was  all;  if  the  chan^?  hadn't  come,  all  my 
readiness  would  have  done  me  .tie  good.  For  one 
man  who  succeeds,  a  dozen,  equally   deserving,  fail. 


12 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■i''\ 


V 

ii      1         :. 


Now,  why  have  I  gone  through  all  this  ?  Why  ?  For 
myself?  Not  likely.  I  have  done  it  so  that  she  may 
not  have  to  be  that  tired  drudge — a  workman's  wife — 
so  that  she  may  begin  where  I  leave  off.  That's  why. 
For  myself,  I  would  as  soon  wear  a  workman's  jacket 
as  a  manager's  coat.  And  now,  having  gone  through 
all  this  for  her  sake — you  talk  of  love  !  What  is  your 
love  for  her  compared  to  mine  ?  When  I  have  done 
all  this  that  she  might  never  know  what  it  means,  shall 
I  be  fool  enough,  knave  enough,  idiot  enough,  to 
thrust  her  back  where  I  began,  at  the  beck  of  the  first 
mouthing  ranter  who  has  the  impudence  to  ask  for 
her?  No,  by  God,  no!  Now  you  have  had  your 
answer,  get  out,  and  don't  dare  to  set  foot  in  this 
office  until  you  are  sent  for." 

Sartwell  in  his  excitement  smote  the  desk  with  his 
clenched  fist  to  emphasize  his  sentences.  Marsten 
shrank  before  his  vehemence,  realizing  that  no  work- 
man had  ever  seen  the  manager  angry  before,  and  he 
dreaded  the  resentment  that  would  rise  in  Sartwell's 
heart  when  the  coldness  returned.  He  felt  that  he 
would  have  been  more  diplomatic  to  have  left  sooner. 
Nevertheless,  seeing  that  things  could  b^  no  worse, 
he  stood  his  ground. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  that  it  would  be  honourable 
in  me  to  let  you  know " 

**  Don't  talk  to  me  of  honour.     Get  out." 

At  that  moment  the  door  from  the  private  stairway 
opened  and  a  young  girl  came  in.  Her  father  had 
completely  forgotten  his  appointment  with  her,  and 
both  men  were  taken  aback  by  her  entrance. 

"  I  knocked,  father,"  she  said,  "  but  you  did  not 
hear  me." 

**  In  a  moment,  Edna.  Just  step  into  the  hall  for  a 
moment,"  said  her  father,  hurriedly. 

"  I  beg  of  you  not  to  leave.  Miss  Sartwell,"  said 
Marsten,  going  to  the  other  door  and  opening  it 
*'  Good-night,  Mr.  Sartwell." 

**  Good-night,"  said  the  manager,  shortly. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


13 


"  Good-night,  Miss  Sartwell." 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  girl  sweetly,  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  bow. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  for  a  moment,  the 
obstinacy  of  the  race  in  each  ;  but  the  eyes  of  the 
younger  man  said  defiantly  : 

"  I  have  spoken  to  her,  you  see." 


CHAPTER  II. 


We  speak  of  our  individuality  as  if  such  a  thing 
really  existed — as  if  we  were  actually  ourselves,  for- 
getting that  we  are  but  the  sum  of  various  qualities 
belonging  to  ancestors,  most  of  whom  are  dead  and 
gone  and  forgotten.  The  shrewd  business-man  in  the 
City  imagines  that  his  keen  instincts  are  all  his  own  ; 
he  does  not  recognize  the  fact  that  those  admirable 
attributes  which  enable  him  to  form  a  joint-stock 
company  helped  an  ancestor  in  the  Middle  Ages  to 
loot  a  town,  or  a  highwayman  of  a  later  day  to  relieve 
a  fellow-subject  of  a  full  purse  on  an  empty  heath. 

Edna  Sartwell  possessed  one  visible,  undeniable, 
easily  recognized  token  of  heredity :  she  had  her 
father's  eyes,  but  softened  and  luminous  and  disturb- 
ingly beautiful — eyes  to  haunt  a  man's  dreams.  They 
had  none  of  the  searching  rapier-like  incisiveness  that 
made  her  father's  eyes  weapons  of  offence  and  de- 
fence ;  but  they  were  his,  nevertheless,  with  a  kindly 
womanly  difference,  and  in  that  difference  lived  again 
the  dead  mother. 

"  Edna,"  said  her  father,  when  they  were  alone, 
"  you  must  not  come  to  this  office  again." 

There  was  more  sharpness  in  his  tone  than  he  was 
accustomed  to  use  to^yard  his  daughter,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"Have  I  interrupted  an  important  conference?" 
she  asked.     "  What  did  the  young  man  want,  father  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  something  I  was  unable  to  grant.'' 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!  He  did  appear  disappointed. 
Was  it  a  situation  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort." 


:(ii 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


%$ 


"  And  why  couldn't  you  give  it  to  him  ?  Wasn't 
he  worthy  ?  " 

"No,  no.     No,  no!" 

"  He  seemed  to  me  to  have  such  a  good  face — honest 
and  straightforward." 

"  Good  gracious !  child,  what  do  you  know  about 
faces?  Do  not  interfere  in  business  matters;  you 
don't  understand  them.  Don't  chatter,  chatter,  chat- 
ter. One  woman  who  does  that  is  enough  in  a  family 
— all  a  man  can  stand." 

The  daughter  became  silent ;  the  father  pigeon- 
holed sorne  papers,  took  them  out  again,  rearranged 
them,  and  placed  them  back.  He  was  regaining  con- 
trol over  himself.  He  glanced  at  his  daughter,  and 
saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  There,  there,  Edna,"  he  said.  "  It  is  all  right. 
I'm  a  little  worried  to-night,  that's  all.  I'm  afraid 
there's  going  to  be  trouble  with  the  men.  It  is  a 
difficult  situation,  and  I  have  to  deal  with  it  alone. 
A  strike  seems  inevitable,  and  one  never  can  tell 
where  it  will  end." 

"  And  is  he  one  of  the  strikers  ?  It  seems  impos- 
sible." 

A  look  of  annoyance  swept  over  her  father's  face. 

"  He  ?  Why  the —  Edna,  you  return  to  a  subject 
with  all  the  persistency  of  a  woman.  Yes.  He  will 
doubtless  go  on  strike  to-morrow  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  fools.  He  is  a  workman,  if  you  want  to  know ; 
and  furthermore,  he  is  going  on  strike  when  he  doesn't 
believe  in  it — going  merely  because  the  others  go. 
He  admitted  it  to  me  shortly  before  you  came  in. 
So  you  see  how  much  you  are  able  to  read  in  a  man's 
face." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it,"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
sigh.  "  Perhaps  if  you  had  given  him  what  he 
wanted  he  would  not  go  on  strike." 

"  Oh,  now  you  are  making  him  out  worse  than  even 
I  think  him.  I  don't  imagine  he  is  bribable,  you 
know." 


rkd 


, 


rr" 


i6 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


!ft 


I,;! 


illiii- 


for.      The 
Sit  down 


"  Would  that  be  bribery  ?  " 

"  Suspiciously  like  it  ;  but  he  can  strike  or  not  as 
he  wishes — one  more  or  less  doesn't  matter  to  me.  I 
hope,  if  they  go,  they  will  go  in  a  body;  a  few  remain- 
ing would  only  complicate  things.  Now  that  you 
understand  all  about  the  situation,  are  you  satisfied  ? 
It  isn't  every  woman  I  would  discuss  it  with,  you 
know,  so  you  ought  to  be  flattered." 

Sartwell  was  his  own  man  once  more,  and  he  was 
mentally  resolving  not  to  be  thrown  off  the  centre 
again. 

"  Yes,  father,  and  thank  you,"  said  the  girl.  "  The 
cab  is  waiting,"  she  added,  more  to  let  him  know  that 
so  far  as  she  was  concerned  the  discussion  was  ended, 
than  to  impart  the  information  conveyed  in  her 
words. 

"  Let   it   wait.     That's   what   cabs    are 
cabby  usually  likes  it  better  than  hurrying. 
a  moment,  Edna;  I'll  be  ready  presently." 

The  girl  sat  down  beside  her  father's  table.  Usu- 
ally Mr.  Sartwell  preferred  his  desk  to  his  table,  for 
the  desk  was  tall  where  a  man  stands  when  he  writes. 
This  desk  had  three  compartments,  with  a  lid  to  each. 
These  were  always  locked,  and  Sartwell's  clerks  had 
keys  to  two  of  them.  The  third  was  supposed  to 
contain  the  manager's  most  private  papers,  as  no  one 
but  himself  ever  saw  the  inside  of  it.  The  lid  locked 
automatically  when  it  was  shut,  and  the  small  key  that 
opened  it  dangled  at  Sartwell's  watch-chain. 

Edna  watched  her  father  as  he  unlocked  one  after 
another  of  the  compartments  and  apparently  re- 
arranged his  papers.  There  was  always  about  his 
actions  a  certain  well-defined  purpose,  but  the  girl 
could  not  help  noticing  that  now  he  appeared  irreso- 
lute and  wavering.  He  seemed  to  be  marking  time 
rather  than  making  progress  with  any  definite  work. 
She  wondered  if  the  coming  strike  was  worrying  him 
more  than  he  had  been  willing  to  admit.  She  wished 
to   help,  but  knew  that  nothing  would   be  more  ac- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


17 


not  as 
me.  I 
remain- 
at  you 
tisfied  ? 
th,  you 

he  was 
centre 

"The 

3W  that 

ended, 

in    her 

.      The 
t  down 

Usu- 
ble,  for 
writes, 
o  each, 
'ks  had 
)sed  to 
no  one 
locked 
ey  that 

le  after 
itly  re- 
Dut  his 
:he  girl 
irreso- 
\g  time 
e  work, 
ng  him 
wished 
ore  ac- 


ceptable to  him  than  simply  leaving  him  alone.  She 
also  knew  that  when  her  father  said  he  would  be 
ready  to  go  home  with  her  at  a  certain  hour  he  usually 
was  ready  when  that  hour  came.  Why,  then,  did  he 
delay  his  departure? 

At  last  Sartwell  closed  down  the  lid  of  one  desk 
and  locked  it  as  if  he  were  shutting  in  his  wavering 
purpose,  then  he  placed  the  key  from  his  watrh-guard 
in  the  third  lock  and  threw  back  the  cover.  An 
electric  light  dangling  by  a  cord  from  the  ceiling, 
threw  down  into  the  desk  rays  reflected  by  a  circular 
opal  shade  that  covered  the  lamp.  The  manager 
gazed  for  a  few  moments  into  the  desk,  then  turning 
to  his  daughter,  said  : 

"  Edna,  you  startled  me  when  you  came  in  to- 
night." 

*'  I  am  very  sorry,  father.     Didn't  you  expect  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  at  that  moment,  as  it  happened. 
You  are  growing  very  like  your  mother,  my  girl." 

There  was  a  pause,  Edna  not  knowing  what  to  say. 
Her  father  seldom  spoke  of  his  dead  wife,  and  Edna 
could  not  remember  her  mother. 

"  Somehow  I  did  not  realize  until  to-night — that 
you  were  growing  up.  You  have  always  been  my 
baby  to  me.  Then — suddenly — you  came  in.  Edna, 
she  was  only  four  years  older  than  you  when  she 
died.  You  see,  my  dear,  although  I  grow  older,  she 
always  remains  young — but  I  sometimes  think  that 
the  young  man  who  was  her  husband  is  dead  too,  for 
there  is  not  much  likeness  to  him  in  me." 

Sartwell  had  been  drumming  lightly  with  his  fingers 
on  the  desk  top  as  he  spoke  ;  now  he  reached  up  and 
turned  off  the  electric  light  as  if  its  brilliancy  troubled 
him.  The  lamp  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  suffi- 
cient, and  it  left  him  in  the  shadow. 

"  I  suppose  there  comes  a  time  in  the  life  of  every 
father,  when  he  learns,  with  something  of  a  shock, 
that  the  little  girl  who  has  been  playing  about  his 
knee  is  a  young  woman.     It  is  like  when  a  man  hears 


J 

i 


e 


i8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


himself  alluded  to  as  old  for  the  first  time.  I  well 
remember  how  it  made  me  catch  my  breath  when  I 
first  heard  myself  spoken  of  as  an  old  man." 

"  Bnt  you  are  not  old,"  cried  the  girl,  with  a  little 
indignant  half  sob  in  her  voice.  She  wished  to  go  to 
her  father  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  but  she 
felt  intuitively  that  he  desired  her  to  stay  where  she 
was  until  he  finished  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  I  am  getting  on  in  that  direction.  None  of  us 
grows  younger,  but  the  dead.  I  suppose  a  daughter 
is  as  blind  to  her  father's  growing  old,  as  he  to  her 
advancing  womanhood.  But  we  won't  talk  of  my  age. 
We  are  welcoming  the  coming,  rather  than  speeding 
the  going,  to-night.  You  and  I,  Edna,  must  realize 
that  we,  in  a  measure,  begin  life  on  a  new  line  with 
each  other.  We  are  both  grown-up  people.  When 
your  mother  was  a  little  older  than  you  are,  I  had  her 
portrait  painted.  She  laughed  at  me  and  called  me 
extravagant.  Yo!i  see,  we  were  really  very  poor,  and 
she  thought,  poor  girl,  that  a  portrait  of  herself  was 
not  exactly  ?  necessity.  I  have  thought  since  that  it 
was  the  one  necessary  thing  I  ever  bought.  I  had  it 
copied,  when  I  got  richer,  by  a  noted  painter,  who  did 
it  more  as  a  favour  to  me  than  for  the  money,  for 
painters  do  not  care  to  copy  other  men's  work.  Curi- 
ously enough  he  made  a  more  striking  likeness  of  her 
than  the  original  was.     Come  here,  my  girl." 

Edna  sprang  to  her  father's  side  and  rested  her 
hand  lightly  on  his  shoulder.  Sartwell  turned  on  the 
electric  light.  At  the  bottom  of  the  desk  lay  a  large 
portrait  of  a  most  beautiful  woman.  The  light  shone 
down  on  the  face,  and  the  fine  eyes  looked  smilingly 
up  at  them. 

"  That  was  your  mother,  Edna,"  said  the  father, 
almost  in  a  whisper,  speaking  with  difficulty. 

The  gir'  was  crying  softly,  trying  not  to  let  her 
father  know  it.  Her  hand  stole  from  the  shoulder 
next  her  to  the  other,  his  hand  caressed  her  fair  hair. 

"  Poor  father ! "  she  said,  trying  to  speak  bravely. 


m 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


19 


.     I  well 
when  I 

h  a  little 
to  go  to 
,  but  she 
here  she 

le  of  us 
laughter 
e  to  her 

my  age. 

speeding 

t  realize 

ine  with 

When 

had  her 
died  me 
oor,  and 
self  was 
e  that  it 

I  had  it 

who  did 
)ney,  for 
z.  Curi- 
s  of  her 

sted  her 
d  on  the 
/  a  large 
it  shone 
milingly 

father, 

let  her 
shoulder 
lir  hair, 
bravely. 


"  How  lonely  you  must  have  been.  I  seem  to — to 
understand  things — that  I  didn't  before — as  if  I  had 
suddenly  grown  old." 

They  looked  at  the  picture  for  some  time  together 
in  silence,  then  she  said : 

"Why  did  you  never  show  me  the  portrait  be- 
fore?" 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  was  here  and  not  at  the  house, 
and  when  you  were  a  small  girl,  you  did  not  come  to 
the  office,  you  know.  Then,  you  see,  your  step- 
mother had  the  responsibility  of  bringing  you  up — 
and — and — somehow  I  thought  it  wouldn't  be  giving 
her  a  fair  chance.  The  world  is  ra_her  hard  on  step- 
mothers." He  hurriedly  closed  the  desk.  "  Come, 
come,"  he  cried,  brusquely,  ''  this  won't  do,  you 
know,  Edna.  But  this  is  what  I  want  to  say.  I  want 
you  to  remember — to  understand  rather — that  you  and 
I  are,  as  it  were,  alone  in  the  world ;  there  is  a  bond 
between  us  in  that,  as  well  as  in  the  fact  that  we  are 
father  and  daughter.  I  want  you  always  to  feel  that 
I  am  your  best  friend,  and  there  must  never  come  any 
misunderstanding  between  us." 

"  There  never  could,  father,"  said  the  girl,  solemnly. 

"That's  right,  that's  right.  Now  if  anything  she  Id 
happen  to  trouble  you,  I  want  you  to  come  to  me  and 
tell  me  all  about  it.  I  wish  there  to  be  complete  con- 
fidence between  us.  If  anything  perplexes  you,  tell 
me  ;  if  it  is  trivial  I  want  to  know,  and  if  it  is  serious 
I  want  to  know.  Sometimes  an  apparently  trivial 
problem  is  really  a  serious  one,  and  vice-versa ;  and 
re"iember,  it  is  almost  as  important  to  classify  your 
problem  as  to  solve  it.  That's  where  I  can  help  you ; 
for  even  if  I  could  not  disentangle  the  skein,  I  could 
perhaps  show  you  that  it  was  not  worth  unravelling." 

The  girl  regarded  her  father  earnestly  while  he 
spoke,  and  then,  as  if  to  show  that  woman's  intuition 
will  touch  the  spot  around  which  a  man's  reason  is 
elaborately  circling,  she  startled  him  by  saying : 

*'  Father,  something  has  happened  concerning  me, 


i 


I 


20 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


that  has  made  you  anxious  on  my  account.  What  is 
it?  I  think  I  should  know.  Has  my  step-mother 
been  saying " 

"  No  no,  my  child,  your  step-niother  has  been  say- 
ing nothing  about  you.  And  if  she  had  I  would  not 
— that  is,  I  would  have  given  it  my  best  attention, 
and  would  have  no  hesitation  in  letting  you  know 
what  it  was.  You  mustn't  jump  at  conclusions;  per- 
haps I  am  talking  with  unnecessary  seriousness ;  all  I 
wish  to  impress  upon  you  is  that  although  I  am  seem- 
ingly absorbed  in  business,  you  are  much  more  impor- 
tant to  me  than  anything  else — that,  in  fact,  since  your 
mother  died,  you  are  the  only  person  who  has  been 
of  real  importance  to  me,  and  so  if  you  want  anything, 
let  me  know — a  new  frock,  for  instance,  of  exceptional 
expensiveness.  I  think  you  will  find  that  where  your 
happiness  is  concerned,  I  shall  not  allow  any  pre- 
judices of  mine  to  stand  in  the  way." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  her  father  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  think  my  happiness  will  be  endangered  for 
lack  of  a  new  gown,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  dress  is  very  important,  Edna,  we  mustn't 
forget  that ;  though  I  merely  instanced  dress  for  fear 
you  would  take  me  too  seriously.  And  now,  my  girl, 
let  us  get  home.  This  is  our  last  conference  in  this 
office,  you  know,  and  there  has  somehow  entered  into 
it  the  solemnity  that  pertains  to  all  things  done  for 
the  last  time.     Now  if  you  are  ready,  I  am." 

"  Not  quite,  father.  You  see,  I  like  this  office — I 
always  did, — and  now — after  to-night — it  will  always 
seem  sacred  to  me.  All  this  talk  has  been  about  an 
insignificant  person  and  her  clothes — but  what  im- 
presses me,  father,  is  how  much  alone  you  have  been 
nearly  all  your  life.  I  never  realized  that  before. 
Now  after  this  you  must  talk  over  your  business  with 
me ;  I  may  not  be  able  to  help,  at  first,  but  later  on, 
who  can  tell  ?  Then  it  will  flatter  me  by  making  mc 
think  our  compact  is  not  one-sided.  Is  it  a  bargain, 
father?" 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


21 


"  It  is  a  bargain,  Edna." 

The  father  drew  the  daughter  towards  him  and  the 
bargain  was  sealed.  He  turned  out  the  lights,  and 
they  hurried  down  the  stair  to  the  slumbering  cab- 
man. The  fog  had  reached  down  almost  to  the  top 
of  his  head. 

"  Waterloo  Station,  Main  Line,"  cried  Sartwell, 
sharply. 

"Yessir,"  said  the  cabby,  exceedingly  wide  awake, 
as  he  gathered  up  the  reins.  The  porter  opened  the 
gates. 

"  Everything  all  right,  Perkins?" 

"  All  right,  sir,"  answered  the  porter,  touching  his 
cap. 

"  Keep  a  sharp  look-out,  you  know." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  rapidly  lessening  rattle  of  the  hansom  down 
the  narrow  street  came  back  to  Perkins  as  he  closed 
the  big  gates  for  the  night. 


m 


CHAPTER  III. 

As  father  and  daughter  approached  Wimbledon 
a  mutual  silence  came  over  them.  Perhaps  this  was 
because  they  had  talked  so  much  in  the  office.  When 
they  passed  the  station  gates,  Sartwell  said : 

"  We'll  have  a  cab,  Edna,  and  blow  the  expense." 

"  I  don't  mind  walking  in  the  least ;  there  is  no  fog 
here." 

"  We're  late,  so  we'll  have  a  cab."  Once  inside,  he 
added,  reflectively :  "  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  a  cab 
seems  extravagance  in  Wimbledon  and  economy  in 
London." 

This  apparently  was  a  problem  neither  of  them 
could  solve,  so  nothing  more  was  said  until  the 
vehicle  drew  up  at  the  door  of  a  walled  garden  in  a 
quiet  street  near  the  breezy  common.  Sartwell  put 
his  key  in  the  door,  held  it  open,  and  let  his  daughter 
pass  in  before  him.  A  square  house  stood  about  a 
hundred  yards  back  from  the  street,  surrounded  by 
shrubbery  and  flower-beds.  The  two  walked  some- 
what gingerly  up  the  crunching  gravel  path,  opened 
the  front  door,  and  entered  a  dimly-lighted  hall. 
Sartwell  placed  his  hat  on  the  rack,  pushed  open  the 
dining-room  door  and  went  in,,  this  time  preceding  his 
daughter.  There  were  many  comfortable  chairs  in  the 
room,  and  one  that  was  not  comfortable.  On  that 
chair  sat  a  woman,  tall  and  somewhat  angular,  past 
the  prime  of  life.  She  sat  exceedingly  upright,  not 
allowing  her  shoulders  to  rest  against  the  chair  back. 
On  her  face  was  a  patient  expression  of  mitigated 
martyrdom,  the  expression  of  one  who  was  badly 
used   by  a  callous  world,  but  who  is  resolved   not  to 


^ 


I 
.1 


m 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


23 


ibledon 
his  was 
When 

nse." 
no  fog 

;ide,  he 
a  cab 
3my  in 

f  them 
til  the 
2n  in  a 
ell  put 
lughter 
ibout  a 
ded  by 

some- 
opened 
i  hall. 
Den  the 
ing  his 
;  in  the 
>n  that 
ir,  past 
ht,  not 
r  back, 
tigated 

badly 
not  to 


allow  its  ill  treatment  to  interfere  with  her  innate 
justice  in  dealing  with  her  fellows. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  cab  drive  up  and  stop,"  she 
said  miluiy,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  may  be  wrong  and 
is  willing  to  be  corrected. 

"You  did/'  said  Sartwell,  throwing  himself  down  in 
an  armchair.  "  Being  late,  I  took  a  cab  from  the 
station." 

"Oh!" 

Much  may  be  expressed  by  an  apparently  meaning- 
less interjection.  This  one  signified  that  Mrs.  Sart- 
well, while  shocked  at  such  an  admission,  bowed  to 
the  inevitable,  recognizing  that  she  was  mated  with  a 
man  not  amenable  to  reason,  and  that,  while  she 
might  say  much  on  the  influence  of  unnecessary  lavish- 
ness,  she  repressed  herself,  although  she  knew  she 
would  have  no  credit  for  her  magnanimity. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence,  during  which  Mrs. 
Sartwell  critically  examined  the  sewing  on  which  she 
was  engaged,  she  looked  across  at  her  husband,  and 
said  : 

"  I  may  ask,  I  suppose,  if  it  was  business  kept  you 
so  late." 

"  Important  business." 

She  sighed. 

"  It  always  is.  I  should  know  that  by  this  time 
without  asking.  Some  men  make  business  their  god, 
although  it  will  prove  a  god  of  clay  to  call  upon  when 
the  end  comes.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  duty  as  well 
as  business,  and  a  man  should  have  some  little  thought 
for  his  wife  and  his  home." 

This  statement  seemed  so  incontrovertible  that 
Sartwell  made  no  effort  to  combat  it.  He  sat  there 
with  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  closed,  and  his 
hands  clasped  supporting  his  knee.  This  attitude 
Mrs.  Sartwell  always  regarded  as  the  last  refuge  of 
the  scoffer — an  attitude  he  would  be  called  upon 
to  account  for,  as  a  sinner  must  account  for  evil 
deeds. 


I 


il- 


24 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  Father  has  had  more  than  usual  to  worry  him  at 
the  office  to-day,"  said  Edna.  She  stood  by  the 
table,  having  removed  her  hat  and  gloves. 

A  look  of  mild  surprise  came  over  Mrs.  Sart- 
well's  face.  She  turned  her  head  slowly  around,  and 
coldly  scrutinized  her  step-daughter  from  head  to 
foot.  She  apparently  became  aware  of  her  presence 
for  the  first  time,  which  may  be  explained  by  the 
fact  that  the  young  woman  entered  the  room  behind 
her  father. 

"  Edna,"  said  Mrs.  Sartwell,  "  how  often  have  I  told 
you  not  to  put  your  hat  and  gloves  on  the  dining- 
room  table  ?  There  is  a  place  for  everything.  I  am 
sure  that  when  you  visit  your  father's  office,  which 
you  are  so  fond  of  doing,  you  find  everything  in  its 
place,  for  he  is  at  least  methodical.  You  certainly  do 
not  take  your  disorderly  habits  from  him,  and  every- 
body, except  perhaps  your  father  and  yourself,  admits 
that  you  live  in  an  orderly  household.  How  did  you 
get  that  stain  on  your  frock  ?  " 

Edna  looked  quickly  down  at  her  skirt ;  the  hansom 
wheel  had,  alas !  left  its  mark.  Two-and-six  an  hour 
does  not  represent  all  the  iniquities  of  a  hansom  on  a 
muddy  day. 

**  You  are  my  despair,  Edna,  with  your  carelessness, 
and  no  one  knows  how  it  hurts  me  to  say  so.  That 
frock  you  have  had  on  only " 

"Edna,"  cried  her  father,  peremptorily,  "  are  you 
hungry  ?  " 

'•  No,  father." 

"Sure?" 

"  Quite  sure.     I  am  not  in  the  least  hungry." 

"  Then  go  to  bed." 

Edna  came  around  the  table  to  where  her  step- 
mother sat  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

**  Good-night,"  she  said. 

"  Good-night,  my  poor  child,"  murmured  Mrs.  Sart- 
well, with  a  sigh. 

The  girl  kissed  her  father,  whispering  as  she  did  so, 


1' 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


25 


e  I  told 
dining- 
.  I  am 
i,  which 
g  in  its 
ainly  do 
d  every- 
',  admits 
did  you 

hansom 
an  hour 
om  on  a 

essness, 
p.     That 

are  you 


If 
ler  step- 

rs.  Sart- 
did  so, 


"  I'm  afrai  J  I'm  your  little  girl  again  by  the  way  you 
order  me  off  to  bed." 

"  You  will  always  be  my  little  girl  to  me,  my  dear,*' 
he  said.     '*  Good-night." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  sighed  again  as  Edna  closed  the  door. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  you  think  it  fair  to  me  to 
speak  in  whispers  to  Edna  when  I  am  in  the  room,  or 
you  wouldn't  do  it.  How  you  can  expect  the  child  to 
nave  any  respect  for  me  when  you  allow  her  to 
whisper " 

"  Is  there  anything  to  eat  in  the  house?  " 

"  You  know  there  is  always  something  to  eat  in  the 
house." 

"  Then  will  5^ou  ring,  or  shall  I  ?  " 

"You  can't  expect  servants  to  sit  up  all  night " 

"  Very  well ;  give  me  the  keys  and  I  will  get  some- 
thing for  myself." 

Mrs.  Sartwell's  lips  trembled  as  she  folded  her  work 
methodically,  enclosing  needle,  thimble  and  various 
paraphernalia  of  sewing  in  the  bundle,  placing  it  ex- 
actly where  it  should  be  in  the  workbasket.  The 
keys  jingled  at  her  waist  as  she  rose. 

"  I  am  ready,  and  always  have  been,  to  get  you  what 
you  want  whenever  you  want  it.  Perhaps  I  expect  too 
much,  but  I  think  you  might  ask  for  it  civilly.  If 
you  treat  your  men  as  you  do  your  wife,  it's  no  wonder 
they  strike." 

Sartwell  made  no  reply,  sitting  there  with  his  eyes 
closed  until  his  wife,  with  a  quaver  in  her  voice,  told 
him  his  supper  was  ready.  It  was  a  plentiful  spread, 
with  a  choice  of  beer  or  spirits  to  drink ;  for  one  of 
Sartwell's  weaknesses  was  the  belief  that  to  work  well 
a  man  must  eat  well.  Although  his  wife  did  not 
believe  in  nor  approve  of  this  pampering,  she  never- 
theless provided  well  for  hiui,  for  is  not  a  woman 
helpless  in  such  a  case  ?  As  the  man  of  the  house  ate 
in  silence,  she  looked  at  him  once  or  twice  over  her 
sewing,  and  finally  said,  pathetically : 

"  I  am  sure  Edna  was  hungry,  but  was  afraid  to  say 


I 


,  I 


1 1 


I 


1 


26 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■I 


so,  you  were  so  gruff  with  her.  One  would  think  that 
if  you  had  no  feeling  for  your  wife,  you  would  have 
some  for  your  only  daughter." 

Sartwell  cut  another  slice  from  the  cold  joint,  and 
transferred  it  to  his  plate. 

''  I  am  accustomed  to  it,  I  hope,  by  this  time,  but 
she  is  young  and  nothing  warps  the  character  of  the 
young  like  uncalled-for  harshness  and  unkindness. 
You  are  blind  to  her  real  faults,  and  then  you  are 
severe  when  there  is  no  occasion  for  severity.  What 
had  the  child  done  that  you  should  order  her  off  to 
bed  in  that  fashion  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  reply,  but  no  reply  came. 
Mrs.  Sartwell  was  accustomed  to  this,  as  she  had  said, 
for  there  is  a  brutality  of  silence  as  well  as  a  brutality 
of  speech  ;  so  she  scanned  her  adversary,  as  one  does 
who  searches  for  a  joint  in  the  armor  where  the 
sword's  point  will  enter.  Then  she  took  a  firm  grasp 
of  the  hilt,  and  pressed  it  gently  forward.  Turning 
over  her  sewing,  and  sighing  almost  inaudibly  to  it, 
she  remarked,  quietly  : 

"  As  I  said  to  Mrs.  Hope  when  she  called " 

"  Said  to  whom  ?  "  snapped  Sartwell,  turning  round 
suddenly. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  were  never  interested  in  my 
callers.  I  suppose  I  am  allowed  to  have  some  private 
friends  of  my  own.  Still,  if  you  wish  me  to  sit  in  the 
house  all  day  alone,  you  have  but  to  say  so,  and  I  will 
obey." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  if  you  can  help  it.  What 
was  Mrs.  Hope  doing  here?" 

"  She  was  calling  on  me." 

"  Quite  so.  I  think  I  understand  that  much. 
What  was  her  mission  ?  What  particular  fad  was  on 
this  time?" 

*'  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  speak 
like  that  about  your  employer's  wife,  when  she  did 
your  wife  the  honour  to  consult  her " 

"  About  what  ?    That  is  the  point  I  want  to  get  at." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


27 


"About  the  strike." 

"Ah  !  "  A  glint  of  anger  came  into  Sartwell's  eyes, 
and  his  wife  looked  at  him  with  some  uneasiness. 

*'  Mrs.  Hope  is  a  woman  who  goes  about  doing  good. 
She  is  much  interested  in  the  men  at  the  '  works,'  and 
thinks  of  calling  on  their  wives  and  families  to  see  for 
herself  how  they  live.  She  thinks  perhaps  something 
may  be  done  for  them." 

"Does  she?" 

"  Yes.  She  wonders  if  you  are  quite  patient  and 
tactful  with  them." 

"  And  came  to  find  out  ^  You  told  her,  no  doubt, 
that  I  studied  tact  from  ^ou  and  was  therefore  all 
right  as  far  as  that  was  concerned." 

"  I  told  her  the  truth,"  cried  Mrs.  Sartwell,  hotly. 

"  Which  was ?  " 

"That  you  were  an  obstinate,  domineering  man  who 
would  brook  no  opposition." 

"  You  hit  the  bull's-eye  for  once.  What  did  she 
say  r 

"  She  said  she  hoped  you  considered  the  men's  help- 
less families." 

"  And  you  answered  that  not  having  any  considera- 
tion for  my  own,  it  was  not  likely  I  would  give  much 
thought  to  the  wives  and  families  of  the  men." 

"  I  didn't  say  so,  but  I  thought  it." 

"  Admirable  self-restraint !  Now  look  here,  Sarah, 
you*  re  playing  with  fire  and  haven't  the  sense  to  know 
it.     Mrs.  Hope  is  a  meddling,  hysterical  fool,  and " 

"You  wouldn't  dare  say  that  to  your  employer." 

"  Now  that  remark  shows  that  a  woman  of  your 
calibre  can  live  for  years  with  a  man  and  not  begin 
to  understand  him.  The  trouble  is  that  I  shall  say 
just  that  very  thing  to  my  employer,  as  you  delight  to 
call  him,  the  moment  his  wife  puts  her  finger  in  the 
pie.     Then  what  follows  ?  " 

"  You  will  lose  your  situation." 

"  Exactly.  Or,  to  pui  it  more  truthfully,  I  resign — 
I  walk  out  into  the  street." 


28 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


W 


"You  surely  would  do  nothing  so  foolish." 

"  That  follows  instantly  when  I  am  compelled  to 
give  Mr.  Hope  my  opinion  regarding  his  domestic 
relations.  Then  what  will  become  of  your  income  ? 
Will  Mrs.  Hope  contribute,  do  you  think  ?  Do  you 
aspire  to  a  place  on  her  charity  list  ?  Whatever  your 
opinion  has  been  of  me,  privately  held  or  publicly 
expressed,  you  must  admit  that  I  have  at  least  pro- 
vided money  enough  to  keep  the  house  going,  and 
you  have  surely  the  sense  to  appreciate  that.  You 
never  could  see  an  inch  ahead  of  your  nose,  or  realize 
that  effect  follows  cause  as  inevitably  as  fate.  How  a 
woman  can  describe  a  man  as  obstinate  and  domineer- 
ing, impatient  of  all  control,  and  then  deliberately 
wag  her  tongue  to  bring  about  the  very  interference 
that  she  must  know,  if  she  believes  what  she  has  said, 
he  will  not  stand,  passes  my  comprehension.  The 
result  of  your  gossip  to-day  may  be  that  I  shall  be 
looking  for  another  situation  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  had  been  weeping  during  the  latter 
part  of  this  harangue. 

"  It  is  always  me,"  she  sobbed,  "  that  is  to  blame 
for  everything  wrong.  Your  hasty  ungovernable  tem- 
per is  never  at  fault.  If  you  made  me  more  of  a  con- 
fidante in  your  affairs — other  men  consult  their  wives, 
better  men  than  you,  and  richer  than  you  will  ever  be. 
Mrs.  Hope  says  that  her  husband " 

**  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  Mrs.  Hope." 

"You  insisted  on  talking  about  her.  I  didn't  want 
to  say  anything,  but  you  cross-questioned  me  till  I 
had  to,  and  now  you  blame  me." 

"  Very  well,  let  it  rest  there.  Bring  me  a  jug  of 
milk,  if  you  please." 

"  You  are  surely  not  going  to  drink  milk  after  beer  ?  " 

"  I  claim  the  liberty  of  a  British  subject  to  drink 
any  mortal  thing  I  choose  to  drink.  Don't  let  us 
have  an  argument  about  it." 

"  But  you  won't  sleep  a  wink,  John,  if  you  do.  It's 
for  your  own  good  I  speak." 


;■■'' 


.i 


1*^ 

I 


I 


f 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


29 


>" 


^.■^ 


>.?•■ 
i 


"  Everything  is  for  my  own  good,  Sarah  ;  perhaps 
that's  what  makes  me  so  impatient." 

"  Well,  you  know  how  you  are  after  a  bad  night." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  think  I  have  earned  my  bad  night 
anyhow.     Get  the  milk  or  tell  me  where  to  get  it." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  always  rose  when  her  husband  offered 
to  help  himself  from  the  larder.  She  placed  the  jug 
of  milk  at  his  elbow. 

**  I've  got  a  number  of  things  to  think  over,"  he 
<aid.     "  I  want  to  be  alone." 

She  stood  by  the  table  looking  at  him. 

"  Good-night,  John,"  she  faltered  at  last. 

"  Good-night,"  he  answered. 

She  gazed  at  him  reproachfully  in  silence,  but  he 
did  not  raise  his  head,  so  turning  at  last  with  a  deep 
sigh,  she  left  him  to  his  meditations. 

Sartwell  sat  there  with  deep  anxiety  on  his  brow. 
Silence  fell  on  all  the  house.  At  last  the  master 
roused  himself  and  turned  to  the  table.  He  buttered 
two  slices  of  bread  and  cut  a  piece  of  dainty  cake, 
placing  them  on  a  plate  with  a  drinking  glass.  Light- 
ing a  candle  and  turning  out  the  gas,  he  set  to  himself 
the  acrobatic  feat  of  carrying  plate,  jug,  and  candle. 
First  he  softly  opened  the  door  and  kicked  off  his 
slippers.  Awkwardly  laden,  he  mounted  the  stair 
with  the  stealthy  tread  of  a  burglar,  but  in  spite  of  his 
precautions  the  stairs  creaked  ominously  in  the  still- 
ness. He  noiselessly  entered  a  room,  and,  placing  the 
difficult  load  on  a  table,  softly  closed  the  door.  When 
the  light  shone  on  the  sleeping  girl's  face  she  opened 
her  eyes  very  wide,  then  covered  them  with  her  hand, 
laughing  a  quiet,  sleepy  little  laugh,  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  white  pillow. 

"  H — s — sh,"  said  her  father. 

Instantly  she  was  wide  awake. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  hungry  after  all,"  he 
whispered. 

"  I  wasn't  then,  really,  but  I  am  now  a  little." 

"That's  good." 


I' 


' 


fr 


30 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


He  placed  a  small  round  gypsy  table  near  the  bed 
and  put  the  plate  and  jug  of  milk  upon  it. 

"  You  knew  of  course  when  I  spoke,  that — I  merely 
wanted  you  to  get  a  long  night's  rest.  You  were 
tired,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,  father." 

"Then,  good-night,  my  dear;  perhaps  it  was  foolish 
to  wake  you  up,  but  you  will  soon  drop  off  asleep 
again." 

"  In  a  minute,  and  this  does  look  tempting.  I  just 
wanted  a  glass  of  milk.     It's  so  good  of  you,  father." 

She  drew  his  head  down  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  hope  you'll  sleep  well,"  she  added. 

*'  I'll  be  sure  to." 

At  the  door  he  stopped;  then  after  a  moment, 
whispered  cautiously : 

"  Edna,  you'll  take  the  things  down  in  the  morning 
yourself,  quietly.  The  servants,  you  know — well, 
they  don't  like  extra  trouble — sometimes." 

"  Yes,  father,  I  understand." 

Sartwell  stole  quietly  out  like  a  thief  in  the  night.    ' 


n 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Barnard  Hope,  commonly  known  as  Barney  never 
quite  got  over  his  surprise  at  finding  himself  tne  son 
of  James  Hope  and  Euphemia  his  wife.  James  Hope, 
the  junior  member  of  the  firm  of  Monkton  &  Hope, 
was  an  undersized  man  with  a  touch  of  baldness  and 
an  air  of  constant  apology.  He  seemed  to  attach  a 
mental  string  to  every  hesitating  opinion  he  uttered, 
so  that  he  might  instantly  pull  it  back  if  necessary. 
Meeting  him  on  the  street,  one  would  take  him  for  a 
very  much  bullied,  very  much  underpaid  clerk  in  the 
City.  In  his  office  he  lived  in  fear  of  his  manager  ;  at 
home  he  lived  in  fear  of  his  wife.  The  chief  charac- 
teristic of  his  wife  was  uncompromising  rigidity.  She 
was  a  head  taller  than  her  husband,  and  when  one  met 
them  on  the  way  to  church,  he  had  the  meek  attitude 
of  an  unfortunate  little  boy  who  had  been  found  out, 
and  was  being  taken  to  church  as  a  punishment  by  a 
just  and  indignant  school-mistress.  Mrs.  Hope  joined 
in  none  of  the  fashionable  frivolities  of  Surbiton, 
where  she  lived.  She  had  a  mission  and  a  duty 
towards  her  fellow-creatures — that  is,  towards  those 
who  were  poor,  and  who  could  not  very  well  resent 
her  patronage.  She  had  an  idea  that  if  all  the  well- 
to-do  did  their  duty,  the  world  would  be  a  brighter 
and  a  better  place — which  is  doubtful. 

We  may  all  be  more  or  less  grateful  that  Mrs. 
Hope  has  not  been  intrusted  with  the  task  of  making 
this  world  over  again ;  many  interesting  features 
would  in  that  case  have  been  eliminated.  Hope  him- 
self was  not  an  example  of  unmitigated  happiness. 
The  lady  always  had  a  number  of  prot^g^es  on  hand, 


: 


i^l 


mm 


32 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


whom  she  afterwards  discovered,  as  a  usual  thing,  to 
be  undeserving,  which  discovery  caused  the  1  to  be 
thrown  over  for  new  cases  that  in  turn  went  bad. 
She  was  also  constantly  in  demand  by  organizations 
needing  members  with  long  purses,  but  Mrs.  Hope 
had  a  wonderful  talent  for  managing  which  was  not 
always  recognized  by  those  with  whom  she  associated. 
This  often  led  to  trouble,  older  members  claiming,  as 
they  vulgarly  put  it,  that  she  wanted  to  run  the  whole 
show,  and  one  outspoken  person  advised  her  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  her  husband's  workmen, 
if  she  desired  fit  subjects  for  her  efforts.  This  re- 
mark turned  Mrs.  Hope's  attention  to  the  manufac- 
tory of  Monkton  &:  Hope,  and  led  to  her  calling 
upon  Mrs.  Sartwell,  in  the  neighbouring  suburb  of 
Wimbledon. 

Now  the  son  of  these  two  dissimilar  but  estimable 
persons  ought  to  have  been  a  solemn  prig,  whereas  he 
was  in  fact  a  boisterous  cad,  and  thus  does  nature 
revel  in  unexpected  surprises. 

Barney  was  a  broad-shouldered,  good-nritrred  giant, 
who  towered  over  his  shrinking  father  as  the  Monu. 
ment  towers  over  the  nearest  lamp-post.  He  was 
hail-fellow  well-met,  and  could  not  shake  hands  like 
an  ordinary  mortal,  but  must  bring  down  his  great 
paw  with  an  over-shoulder  motion,  as  if  he  were 
throwing  a  cricket-ball,  and,  after  the  resounding 
whack  of  palm  on  palm,  he  would  crunch  the  hand  he 
held  until  its  owner  winced.  Friends  of  the  young 
fellow  got  into  the  habit,  oa  meeting  him,  of  placing 
their  hands  behind  them  and  saying,  "I'm  quite  well, 
thank  you,  Barney,"  whereupon  Barney  laughed  and 
smote  them  on  the  shoulder,  which,  though  hard  to 
bear,  was  the  lesser  of  two  evils. 

"  Boisterous  brute,"  his  comrades  said  behind  his 
back,  but  the  energetic  shoulder-blow  or  hand-clasp 
merely  meant  that  Barney  was  very  glad  indeed  to 
meet  a  friend,  and  to  let  the  friend  know  that 
although  he  was  very  poor  and  Barney  very  rich  this 


i 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


as 


circumstance  need  not  make  the  slightest  difference 
between  them. 

It  is  possible  that  in  the  far  West,  or  in  the  Austra- 
lian bush,  where  muscle  counts  for  something,  there 
was  a  place  yawning  for  Barney ;  perhaps  there  was 
a  place  for  him  even  in  London,  but  if  there  was,  fate 
and  Barney's  own  inclinations  removed  him  from  it  as 
far  as  possible.  Barney  was  :in  artist ;  that  is  to  say, 
he  painted,  or  rather  he  put  certain  colours  on  canvas. 
For  some  years  Barney  had  been  the  amazement  of 
Julian's  school  in  Paris.  He  had  a  suite  of  rooms  at 
the  Grand  Hotel,  and  he  drove  to  the  school  in  the 
Rue  du  Dragon  every  morning  with  a  coachman  and 
footman,  the  latter  carrying  Barney's  painting  kit, 
while  the  former  sat  in  a  statuesque  position  on  the  box 
with  his  whip  at  the  correct  angle.  Of  course  the 
art  students  were  not  going  to  stand  that  sort  of 
thing,  so  they  closed  the  gates  one  day  and  attacked 
the  young  man  in  a  body.  Barney  at  first  thought  it 
was  fun,  for  he  did  not  understand  the  language  very 
well,  and  his  good-natured  roar  sounded  loud  over  the 
shrill  cries  of  his  antagonists.  He  reached  for  them 
one  by  one,  placed  them  horizontally  in  a  heap,  then 
he  rolled  them  over  and  over,  flattening  any  student 
who  attempted  resurrection  with  a  pat  of  his  gigantic 
paw. 

Whatever  admiration  they  may  have  had  for  art  at 
Julian's,  they  certainly  had  a  deep  respect  for  muscle, 
and  so  left  Barney  alone  after  that.  He  invited  them 
all  to  dinner  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  they  came. 

When  his  meteoric  career  as  an  art  student  in  Paris 
was  completed,  he  set  himself  up  in  an  immense 
studio  in  Chelsea.  The  studio  was  furhished  regard- 
less of  expense ;  there  was  everything  in  it  that  a 
studio  ought  to  have — rich  hangings  from  the  East, 
tiger-skins  from  India,  oriental  rugs,  ancient  armour, 
easels  of  every  pattern,  luxurious  lounges  covered 
with  stuffs  from  Persia. 

"  There,"  cried  Barney  to  Hurst    Haldiman,  with  a 


'ii'  tu 


M 


li 


34 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


grand  sweep  of  his  hand :  "  what  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  '• 

Haldiman,  one  of  the  most  talented  students  he 
had  met  in  Paris,  had  now  a  garret  of  his  own  in  Lon- 
don,  where  he  painted  when  he  got  time,  and  did  black 
and  white  work  for  the  magazines  and  illustrated 
weeklies  to  keep  himself  in  money.  Barney  had  in- 
vited all  his  own  old  Parisian  friends,  one  by  one,  to 
see  his  new  quarters. 

"Wonderful !  "  said  Haldiman.  "  I  venture  to  say 
there  is  not  another  studio  in  London  like  it." 

"  That  was  my  intention,"  replied  Barney.  "  They 
told  me  that  Sir  Richard  Daubs  had  the  finest  studio 
in  London.  I  said  nothing,  but  went  to  work,  and 
here  I  am.  Have  you  ever  seen  Daubs'  studio, 
Hurst?" 

"  No.  He  is  not  so  friendly  as  you  are,  Barney ;  he 
has  never  invited  me." 

"  Well,  I'll  get  you  an  invitation,  and  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  candidly  what  you  think  of  mine  as  compared 
with  his." 

"  Thanks,  old  man,  but  don't  trouble  about  the  in- 
vitation for  me.  I  haven't  any  time  to  spare ;  merely 
came  up  here,  you  know,  because  we  had  been  in  Paris 
together.  Daubs'  studio  has  one  great  advantage 
over  many  others — it  contains  a  man  who  can  paint." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Haldiman,  that's  all  right.  That's  the  old 
Pans  gag,  you  know.  Ever  since  I  heaped  the  boys 
one  on  top  of  the  other,  they  have  revenged  them- 
selves by  saying  I  couldn't  paint ;  but  you  should  be 
above  that  sort  of  thing,  Haldiman,  you  really  should. 
You  see  I'm  a  plain,  straight-forward  fellow,  and  I've 
got  what  is  admitted  to  be  the  finest  studio  in  Lon- 
don ;  but  does  that  make  any  difference  between  me 
and  my  old  friends  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it,  and  the  fact 
that  you  are  sitting  there  proves  it.  I'm  a  born 
Bohemian  ;  I  despise  riches,  and  my  very  best  friends 
are  fellows  who  haven't  a  sou-markee.  Vou  know 
that,  Haldiman." 


I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


3S 


Haldiman  lit  another  of  Hope  s  very  excellent  ciga- 
rettes. Barney  imported  them  from  Egypt  hi  nself, 
and  said  they  were  the  same  brand  the  Khedive 
smoked  until  one  of  the  war  correspondents  informed 
him  that  the  Khedive  was  not  a  smoker.  Then  Bar- 
ney slightly  varied  the  praise. 

"  Help  yourself,  dear  boy.  You'll  find  theyVe  not 
hulf  bad  as  cigarettes  go.  I  get  them  direct,  for  you 
can't  trust  these  rascally  importers.  The  Khedive  is 
not  a  smoker  himself,  still  he  keeps  nothing  but  the 
best  for  his  guests,  and  this  is  the  identical  brand,  as 
supplied  to  him. 

'*  Now  about  this  painting  business,"  continued 
Barney.  "  I  venture  to  say  that  there  was  a  time 
when  Daubs  was  utterly  unknown.  Very  well.  Here 
also  am  I  utterly  unknown.  The  public  won't  buy 
my  pictures.  I  don't  conceal  that  fact.  Why  should 
I  ?  I  sent  a  picture  to  the  Birmingham  exhibition — I 
don't  say  it  was  great,  but  I  do  claim  it  had  individu- 
ality.    They  rejected  it !  " 

"  You  amaze  me  ! " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  they  did,  Haldi- 
man. Birmingham  !  Think  of  that !  A  town  that 
manufactures  nails  and  gun-barrels." 

"  Oh,  art  in  England  is  going  to  the  dogs,"  said 
Haldiman,  dejectedly. 

"  Now  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that.  No ;  I 
laughed  when  my  little  effort  came  back,  with  regrets. 
I  said  I  can  bide  my  time,  and  I  can.  The  people 
will  come  to  me,  Haldiman,  you  see  if  they  don't." 

"  They  do  already,  Barney — those  who  want  to  bor- 
row money." 

"  Now  look  here.  Hurst,  don't  throw  my  beastly 
cash  in  my  teeth.  Am  I  to  blame  if  I  am  rich?  Do 
I  allow  it  to  make  a  difference  between  man  and  man  ? 
We  were  talking  about  art,  not  money." 

"So  we  were.     About  your  pictures.     Goon." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  point  out  to  you  that  one  must 
take  things  philosophically.     Now  if  Birmingham  had 


36 


TIIK  MUTABLE  MANY. 


rejected  one  of  your  pictures  it  would   have  dcpressei/ 
you  for  a  week." 

"  Birmingham  has  got  me  on   the   other  alley,  Baj 
ney.     ^t  has  accepted  two  of  mine.     Hence  my  gloorir 
after  what  you  have  told  me." 

Barney  beamed  on  his  visitor.     Here  was  his  argu 
ment  clinched,  but  he  repressed   his  desire  to  say,  "  \ 
told  you  so "  ;  still  he  could  not  allow  the  occasion 
to  pass  without   improving   it  with  a  little  judicious 
counsel. 

"There  you  are,  Haldiman,  there  you  are.  Does 
not  the  fact  that  you  are  accepted  of  Birmingham 
make  you  pause  and  think  ?  " 

'*  I'm  staggered.  It's  a  knock-down  blow.  I'll  bq 
into  the  Academy  next." 

"  Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that.  You  see,  Haldiman,  you 
have  talent  of  a  certain  kind " 

"  Now,  Barney,  you  lay  it  on  too  thick.  I  like  flat* 
tery,  of  course,  but  it  must  be  delicately  done.  You 
are  gross  in  your  praise." 

"  I  am  not  flattering  you,  Haldiman,  'pon  my  soul, 
I'm  not.  Most  other  fellows  would  be  offended  at 
what  I'm  going  to  say,  but  you're  a  sensible  man " 

"  There  you  go  again." 

"  Listen  to  me.  You  have  a  certain  talent — tech- 
nique, perhaps,  I  should  call  it ;  a  slight  skill  in  tech- 
nique." 

"  Ah,  that's  better.     Now  go  on." 

"You  got  the  praise  and  the  prizes  in  Paris  because 
of  your  technique,  and  that  set  you  on  the  wrong 
tack.  You  are  merely  only  doing  well  what  hosts 
of  other  men  have  done  well  before  you.  You  are 
down  among  the  ruck.  Now  I  strive  after  individu- 
ality." 

"  You  get  it,  Barney.' 

"That's  not  for  me  to  say;  anyhow,  individuality 
and  strength  are  what  I  want  to  see  in  my  pictures, 
and  there  will  some  time  come  a  critic  with  a  mind 
unbiased  enough   to  recognize   these  qualities.     Then 


»» 


r-i 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


37 


my  day  will  havv,  arrived.  You  mark  my  words,  1 
shall  found  a  school." 

♦'Like  Julian's?" 

"  No,  like  Whistler's.  You  know  very  well  what  I 
mean.  That's  your  nasty  way  of  showing  you  are  of- 
fended because  I'm  frank  enough  to  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  I  suppose  none  of  us  likes  the  candid  friend,  how- 
ever much  we  may  pretend  to.  Well,  I  must  be  go- 
ing.  I've  got  some  technique  to  do  for  one  of  the 
magazines." 

"  Don't  go  just  yet.  I  have  not  half  finished.  Here 
is  what  I  have  to  propose.  Give  up  your  room  and 
come  with  me.  You  see  the  great  advantage  I  have 
over  you  is  that  I  can  wait.  If  a  magazine  asked  me 
to  do  black  and  white  work  for  it,  I  would  say,  '  No, 
go  to  those  poor  devils  who  must  have  work  or  starve. 
I'm  working  for  the  future,  not  for  the  present  ! ' 
That's  what  I'd  say.  Now  I'll  give  you  a  bedroom, 
rent  free,  and  a  corner  of  this  studio.  It  won't  cost 
you  a  penny — nor  your  board  either.  You  can  paint 
just  what  you  like,  and  not  what  the  public  demands. 
Then  you  will  be  independent." 

"  We  have  different  views  about  things,  Barney. 
That  would  seem  to  me  the  worst  form  of  dependence. 
It  is  very  generous  of  you,  but  utterly  impracticable ; 
besides,  you  haven't  thought  of  the  danger  of  my  be- 
coming a  mere  copyist  of  you — a  shadow  of  the  new 
individualist.     I  couldn't  risk  that,  you  know." 

"  Better  become  the  shadow  of  one  man,  than  a 
shadow  of  many,  which  you  are  now." 

**  Perhaps  ;  but  we  each  must  hoe  our  own  row  in 
our  own  way.     Good-by,  Barney." 

Haldiman  went  down-stairs,  not  cheered  as  much 
as  might  have  been  expected  by  Hope's  overflowing 
good  nature  and  generosity.  He  met  l^arney's  mother 
on  the  stairs,  who  gave  him  a  head-to-foot  glance  of 
evident  disapproval.  She  did  not  admire  the  set  with 
whom  her  son  had  thrown  in  his  lot,  and  feared  their 
influence  on  him  would  not  be  beneficial. 


38 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  Oh,  mater!  "  cried  Barney,  when  she  entered.  "  I 
did  not  expect  you  to-day.  How  did  you  find  the 
place  ?  " 

His  mother  raised  her  lorgnette  to  her  eyes  and  sur- 
veyed the  room  in  silence. 

"  So  this  is  the  studio,  Barnard,"  she  said,  at  last. 
"  I  don't  think  much  of  it.  Why  is  it  all  untidy  like 
this  ? — or  haven't  you  had  time  to  get  it  in  order  yet  ?  " 

''This  is  the  kind  of  thing  we  artists  go  in  for, 
mater.     It  is  as  much  in  order  as  it  ever  will  be." 

"  Then  I  don't  like  it.  Why  could  you  not  have 
had  a  man  in  to  lay  one  carpet  as  it  should  be  laid  ? 
These  rugs,all  scattered  about  in  this  careless  way,  trip 
one  up  so.     What's  this  old  iron  for?  " 

"  That's  armour,  mater." 

"  Oh,  is  it  ?  I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  do  useful 
work  in  a  room  like  this,  still  I  suppose  it  is  good 
enough  to  paint  in.  I  found  the  place  easily  enough. 
Trust  a  neighbourhood  to  know  where  there  is  any 
extra  foolishness  going  on.  Of  course  you  have 
been  cheated  in  everything  you  bought.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  I  came  to  talk  with  you  about 
the  business." 

**  What  business,  mater  ?  " 

"  What  business  ?  TJic  business,  of  course.  Your 
father's  business  and  yours,  for  I  hope  the  time  will 
come  when  you  will  take  more  interest  in  it  than  you 
do  now.     The  men,  it  seems,  talk  of  going  on  strike." 

**  Foolish  beggars  !  What  are  they  going  to  do  that 
for,  and  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  Not  to  talk 
to  the  men,  I  hope,  for  I  detest  the  workingman. 
He's  an  ass  usually,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  work  for 
the  wages  he  gets.  Then  he  spends  what  he  does 
make  on  bad  beer  and  goes  home  and  beats  his  wife. 
I  can't  reason  with  the  workingman,  you  know,  mater." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  can.  I  sometimes  doubt 
whether  you  can  reason  with  anybody.  It  is  because 
the  workingman  labours  that  you  can  idle  away  your 
time  in  a  place  like  this.     There  are  many  deserving 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


39 


characters  among  the  working  classes,  although  they 
are  often  difficult  to  find.  The  men  have  made  some 
demands  which  Sartwell,  the  manager,  won't  even 
listen  to.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  is  not  treating  them 
fairly.  He  should,  at  least,  hear  what  they  have  to 
say,  and  if  their  demands  do  not  cost  the  firm  any- 
thing, he  should  grant  them." 

"  Mater,"  cried  the  young  man,  with  enthusiasm, 
"  what  a  head  for  business  you  have  !  " 

"  I  am  of  a  family  that  became  rich  through  having 
heads  for  business,"  replied  the  lady,  with  justifiable 
pride.  "  Now,  what  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  see  this 
man  Sartwell  ;  he  will  pay  attention  to  you  because 
he  knows  that  in  time  you  will  be  his  master,  and 
so  he  will  be  civil  to  you." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Barney,  doubtfully. 
"  I  imagine  he  thinks  me  rather  an  ass,  you  know." 

"  Well,  now  is  your  opportunity  for  showing  him 
you  are  not,  if  he  has  the  impertinence  to  think  such 
a  thing.  You  must  see  him  at  his  own  house  and  not 
at  the  office — here  is  his  address.  Tell  him  to  receive 
the  men  and  make  a  compromise  with  them.  He  is 
to  make  concessions  that  are  unimportant,  and  thus 
effect  a  compromise.  A  little  tact  is  all  that  is  re- 
quired." 

"  From  me,  or  from  Sartwell  ?  " 

"  From  both  of  you.  I  expect  tact  from  you  be- 
cause you  are  my  son." 

"  But  why  doesn't  father  talk  to  Sartwell?  I  know 
nothing  of  the  business,  and  father  does ;  it  seems  to 
be  entirely  in  his  line,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Your  father,  Barnard,  is  a  timorous  man,  and  he 
actually  is  afraid  of  his  manager.  He  thinks  it  is  in- 
terference and  doesn't  want  to  meddle,  so  he  says,  as 
if  a  man  were  meddling  in  looking  after  his  own  af- 
fairs !  He  fears  Sartwell  will  resign,  but  that  kind  of 
man  knows  where  his  own  interest  lies.  I'll  risk  his 
resigning,  and  I  want  you  to  see  him  at  his  house,  for 
it  is  no  use  bothering  your  father  about  these  things." 


40 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  I  don't  like  the  job,  mater ;  it  does  look  like  in- 
terference." 

Mrs.  Hope  again  raised  her  lorgnette  by  its  long 
tortoise-shell  handle,  and  once  more  surveyed  the 
studio. 

"This  must  have  cost  you  a  good  deal  of  money, 
Barnard,"  she  said,  impartially. 

"  It  did,"  admitted  the  young  man. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  soon  have  to  be  writing  another 
cheque  for  you.     For  how  much  shall  I  make  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  such  a  pity  to  trouble  you  so  often,  maler," 
replied  the  young  man,  "  that  perhaps  we  had  better 
say  three  hundred." 

"  Very  well,"  said  his  mother,  rising,  "  I  will  have  it 
ready  for  you  when  you  come  to  Surbiton  after  hav- 
ing seen  Sartwell  at  Wimbledon.  It  is  on  your  way, 
you  know." 

"  All  right,  mater.  But  you  mustn't  blame  me  if  I 
don't  succeed.  I'll  do  my  best,  but  Sartwell's  an 
awkward  beggar  to  deal  with." 

**  All  I  ask  of  you,  Barnard,  is  that  you  shall  do  your 
best,"  answered  the  lady,  rising. 


^1: 


CHAPTER  V. 


;r 


When  Mrs.  Hope  departed,  Barney  sat  down  on  a 
luxurious  divan  in  his  studio,  and  rubbed  his  chin 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  may  as  well  have  that  cheque  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble," he  said  to  himself.  "  It  is  no  use  delaying 
important  matters;  besides,  delay  might  injure  the 
scheme  the  mater  has  on  her  mind.  What  a  bless- 
ing it  is  father  asks  me  not  to  mention  the  cheques 
he  gives  me.  Between  the  two  you  manage  to  rub 
along,  Barney,  my  boy.  Well,  here  goes  for  Wimble- 
don ! " 

The  young  man  arrayed  himself  with  some  care, 
jumped  into  a  hansom,  and  was  driven  to  Sloane 
Square  station,  where,  in  due  time,  a  deliberate  train 
came  along  that  ultimately  landed  him  in  Wimbledon. 

If  Barney  had  been  a  man  of  deep  thought,  or 
experienced  in  the  ways  of  working  people,  or  able  to 
reason  from  induction,  he  would  have  arrived  at  the 
fact  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  finding 
Mr.  Sartwell  in  his  house  at  that  hour  of  the  day.  It 
must  not  be  supposed  that  Barney  was  an  unthinking 
person,  for,  when  the  servant  informed  him  that  Mr. 
Sartwell  was  never  at  home  except  in  the  evening  or 
early  morning,  Barney  at  once  accused  himself  men- 
tally of  heedlessness  in  having  to  come  all  the  way 
from  Chelsea  to  Wimbledon  to  learn  so  self-evident  a 
fact.  He  thus  admitted  to  himself  his  own  ability  to 
have  reasoned  the  matter  out,  had  his  mind  been  un- 
obscured  by  the  shadow  of  a  coming  cheque. 

He  was  not  quick  at  grasping  an  unexpected  detail, 
and  he  stood  at  the  door  hardly  knowing  exactly  what 


42 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


to  do  next ;  while  the  servant  watched  him  with 
obvious  distrust,  wondering  whether  he  came  to  sell 
something  or  merely  to  ask  for  a  subscription  ;  how- 
ever, the  fact  that  he  was  keeping  a  hansom  waiting 
at  the  gate  told  in  his  favour,  so  she  broke  the  silence 
by  sayinjj: 

"  Any  message,  sir  r 

He  ignored  this  question,  which  raised  him  still 
higher  in  the  servant's  estimation,  and  ventured  the 
perfectly  accurate  opinion  : 

"  He  will  not  be  home  for  some  hours,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,  sin" 

Barney  pondered  for  a  while,  and  suddenly  de- 
livered himself  of  a  resolution  that  did  credit  to  his 
good  sense. 

"  Then  I  won't  wait,"  he  said. 

"What  name  shall  I  say,  sir?"  asked  the  maid. 

"  Oh,  it's  of  no  importance.  I  will  call  again ;  still, 
here  is  my  card.  I  am  the  son  of  Mr.  Hope,  one  of 
the  proprietors  of  the  *  works.'  " 

The  maid  took  the  card,  and  Mrs.  Sartwell  appeared 
in  the  hall,  almost  as  if  she  had  been  listening  to  the 
words  of  the  speaker,  which,  of  course,  she  had  a  per- 
fect right  to  do,  as  one  generally  wishes  to  know  who 
calls  at  one's  front  door. 

"Did  I  hear  you  say  that  you  were  Mr.  Hope?** 
she  asked. 

"  I  am  his  son,  madam,"  said  Barney  modestly,  and 
with  that  politeness  he  had  learned  in  Paris. 

**  Won't  you  come  in  ?  I'm  sorry  my  husband  is 
not  at  home.  Is  it  on  account  of  the  strike  you  come  ? 
I  feel  very  anxious.  Your  mother  called  yesterday, 
and  we  had  a  long  conversation  about  it." 

"  Yes,  the  mater  takes  a  great  interes,-  in  the  work- 
ingman,  although  I  can't  say  I  do  myself.  I  merely 
wished  to  have  an  informal  chat  with  Mr.  Sartwell  on 
the  situation,  and  that  is  why  I  called  at  the  house 
rather  than  the  office." 

Barney  stepped  into  the  hall  and  kept  his  hat  in  his 


C( 

tl 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


43 


hand  to  show  he  had  a  hansom  waiting.  He  had  no 
intention  of  staying  more  than  a  moment  or  two.  He 
had  thought  it  best  to  have  something  to  tell  his 
mother  about  his  visit  to  Wimbledon,  for  she  was  a 
relentless  cross-questioner,  and  if  he  could  have  a  con- 
versation to  report  she  might  take  the  will  for  the 
deed  and  give  him  the  cheque. 

The  door  of  the  drawing-room  was  thrown  open  and 
when  the  two  entered  they  found  Edna  Sartwell  sit- 
ting there  in  a  deep  chair,  reading  a  book  with  such 
interest  that  she  evidently  had  not  heard  a  word  of 
the  colloquy  at  the  door.  She  rose  in  some  confu- 
sion, colouring  deeply  as  she  saw  a  stranger  come  in 
with  her  step-mother.  The  latter  said  nothing  to  the 
girl,  but  directed  a  glance  at  her  that,  speaking  as 
plainly  as  words,  told  her  to  leave  the  room. 

Barney's  first  thought  on  seeing  Edna  was  that  she 
was  about  to  escape  from  the  room,  and  that  this 
desertion  must  be  diplomatically  prevented.  Barney's 
great  burden  in  life,  so  he  often  told  his  friends,  was 
that  the  young  ladies  of  England  were  in  the  hab't  of 
throwing  themselves  at  his  head,  which  remark  caused 
Haldiman  once  to  say  that  they  had  a  quick  eye  for 
his  weakest  point  of  defence.  Now  here  was  a 
"  stunning  "  girl,  to  use  Barney's  own  phrase  about  her, 
who  was  actually  about  to  walk  out  of  the  room  with- 
out casting  a  second  glance  at  him.  A  young  man 
always  likes  the  unusual. 

**  Not  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Sartwell?"  said  Barney, 
in  his  most  winning  manner. 

"  My  step-daughter,"  answered  the  lady,  coldly. 

**  Ah,  I  thought  you  could  not  have  a  grown-up 
daughter,"  murmured  Barney,  delicately.  He  always 
found  this  particular  kind  of  compliment  very  success- 
ful with  ladies  well  past  middle  age,  and  in  this  case 
his  confidence  was  not  misplaced. 

"  Do  not  let  me  drive  you  away,  Miss  Sartwell,"  he 
continued.  "  I  am  Barnard  Hope,"  he  added,  seeing 
that  Mrs.  Sartwell  did  not  intend  to  introduce  him, 


44 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  and  I  called  to  sec  your  father  and  talk  with  him 
regarding  the  strike.  So,  you  know,  it  is  a  matter 
that  interests  us  all,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  join  in  the 
conference." 

The  moment  he  mentioned  her  father  and  the 
strike,  he  saw  he  held  the  attention  of  the  girl,  who 
paused  and  looked  at  her  step-mother.  That  per- 
plexed lady  was  in  a  quandary.  She  did  not  wish  to 
offend  Mrs.  Hope's  son,  and  she  did  not  want  her 
step-daughter  to  remain  in  the  room.  She  hesitated, 
and  was  lost. 

"  Pray  let  me  offer  you  a  chair  in  your  own  drawing- 
room,"  said  Barney,  with  that  gallantry  which  he 
always  found  irresistible,  "and  you,  Mrs.  Sartwell. 
Now  we  will  have  a  comfortable  informal  chat,  which 
I  know  will  be  of  immense  assistance  in  my  talk  with 
Mr.  Sartwell,  for  I  confess  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  him." 

Edna  opened  her  eyes  at  this ;  she  had  several 
times  heard  people  say  they  stood  in  awe  of  her 
father,  and  she  never  could  understand  why. 

Mrs.  Sartwell  sat  bolt  upright  and  folded  her  hands 
on  her  lap,  frowning  at  her  step-daughter  when  she 
got  the  chance  unseen  by  Barney.  She  did  not  at  all 
like  the  turn  events  had  taken,  but  saw  no  way  of 
interfering  without  seeming  rude  to  her  guest. 

"  You  see,"  chirruped  Barney,  "  the  mater  '-^Ves  a 
great   interest   in    the    workingman ;    so   d'  He 

thought  this  noble  sentiment  would  ap'"  .    Edna 

Sartwell.  "  I  think  we  all — we  all — as  it  e — should 
feel  a  certain  responsibility,  don't  you  know.  You 
see  what  I  mean,  Mrs.  Sartwell  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  It  does  you  great  credit,  Mr.  Hope," 
replied  the  lady  appealed  to,  although  she  uttered  the 
phrase  with  some  severity,  as  if  it  were  an  aspersion. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  suppose  it  was  born  in  me.  I 
think  it  natural  for  all  rightly  brought  up  persons  to 
take  a  deep  interest  in  their  fellow-creatures.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Miss  Sartwell  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Edna  faintly,  without  looking  up. 


! 


r 


of 

Sp( 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY 


45 


"  For  workmen  are  our  fellow-creatures,  you  know," 
cried  Barney,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  startling 
discovery. 

"Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?"  said  Mrs.  Sartwell, 
in  gloomy  tones. 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  assented  Barney,  who  took  the 
remark  as  original.  "  I  couldn't  have  stated  the  case 
better  if  I  had  thought  all  day  about  it.  Now  the 
mater  imagined  that  perhaps  Mr.  Sartwell  would  con- 
sent to  meet  the  men  and  talk  it  over,  making  per- 
haps some  trifling  concessions,  and  then  everything 
would  be  lovely.     You  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  It  seems  a  most  reasonable  proposal,"  said  Mrs. 
Sartwell,  with  a  sigh ;  "  but  my  opinion  is  of  no  value, 
especially  in  my  own  house." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Mrs.  Sartwell.  I  am  sure  every 
one  must  value  your  opinion  most  highly — every  one 
who  has  the  privilege  of  hearing  it.  I  assure  you  I 
do.     Now,  what  do  you  think.  Miss  Sartwell?" 

The  young  man  beamed  on  the  girl  in  his  most 
fascinating  manner,  but  his  charmJng  facial  expression 
was  in  a  measure  lost,  for  Edna  was  looking  at  the 
carpet,  apparently  perplexed. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  father,  who  spends 
nearly  all  his  time  dealing  with  the  men,  must  under- 
stand the  situation  better  than  we  do.  He  las  had  a 
great  deal  of  experience  with  them,  and,  as  I  know, 
has  given  much  thought  to  the  difficulty ;  so  it  seems 
to  me  our  advice  may  not  be  of  any  real  value  to 
him." 

Barney  could  scarcely  repress  a  long  whistle.  So 
this  was  how  the  land  lay.  This  demure  miss  actually 
had  an  opinion  of  her  own,  and  was  plainly  going  to 
stand  with  her  father  against  the  field.  Heretofore 
everybody  had  always  agreed  with  Barney,  excepting 
of  course  those  rascally  students,  who  were  no  re- 
specters of  persons,  and  more  especially  had  all 
women  agreed  with  him,  therefore  this  little  bit  of 
opposition,  so  decorously  expressed,  had  a  new  and 


,.^ 


■^ 


r 


46 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY 


refreshing  flavour.  The  wind  had  shifted ;  he  must 
trim  his  sails  to  suit  the  breeze. 

"There,  Miss  Sartwell,  you  have  touched  the  weak 
spot  in  our  case.  Just  what  I  said  to  the  mater. 
*  Mr.  Sartwell's  on  the  spot,'  said  I,  *  and  he  ought  to 
know.'     Almost  your  very  words,  Miss  Sartwell." 

An  ominous  cloud  rested  on  Mrs.  Sartwell's  brow. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  severely,  "  the  owners  of  a  busi- 
ness should  have  something  to  say  about  the  way  it  i? 
to  be  conducted." 

**  The  tendency  of  modern  times,"  cried  Barney, 
airily,  wavmg  his  hand,  "  appears  to  Le  entirely  in  the 
opposite  direction,  my  dear  madam.  It  is  getting  to 
be  that  whoever  has  a  say  in  a  business,  the  owners 
shall  have  the  least.  And  I  am  not  sure  but  this  is, 
to  a  certain  extent,  logical.  I  have  often  heard  my 
father  say  that  Mr.  Sartwell  was  the  real  maker  of  the 
business.     Why  then  should  he  be  interfered  with  ?  " 

Edna  looked  up  gratefully  at  the  enthusiastic  young 
man,  for  she  not  only  liked  the  sentiments  he  was 
beginning  to  express,  but  she  liked  the  manly  ring  in 
his  voice.  Barney  had  frequently  found  this  tone  to 
be  very  taking,  especially  with  the  young  and  inex- 
perienced, and  he  knew  that  he  appeared  at  his  best 
when  assuming  it,  if  none  of  his  carping  comrades 
wcie  present.  He  could  even  work  himself  up  into  a 
sturdy  state  of  indignation,  if  his  audience  were  sym- 
pathetic, and  he  were  free  from  the  blighting  influence 
of  pessimistic  young  men  he  met  in  Bohemia. 

"And  n^'W,  Miss  Sartwell,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  pro- 
pose Have  a  talk  with  your  father ;  then,  if  Mrs. 
Sartwell  wiii  allow  me,  I  will  call  again,  and  I  can 
judge  from  what  you  say  whether  it  will  be  worth 
while  troubling  Mr.  Sartwell  with  our  advice.  You 
see,  we  have  all  the  same  object  in  view — we  wish  to 
help  Mr.  Sartwell  if  we  can.  ii  we  can't,  then  there 
is  no  harm  done.     You  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sartwell  rather  grudgingly  assented  to  this. 
Edna  said  nothing. 


r 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


47 


"  You  see,  ladies,  I  am  an  artist — a  painter  of 
pictures.  I  work,  as  it  were,  in  the  past  and  in  the 
future.  I  feel  that  I  do  not  belong  to  the  present, 
and  these  little  details  I  know  I  ought  to  leave  to 
those  who  understand  how  to  deal  with  them.  I  told 
the  mater  so.  But  whether  we  are  able  to  help  Mr. 
Sartwell  or  not,  you  must  allow  me  to  thank  you  for 
a  very  charming  afternoon.  My  studio  is  in  Chelsea. 
It  is  said  to  be  the  finest  in  London  ;  but  of  course  I 
care  nothing  about  that,  to  me  it  is  merely  my  work- 
shop. But  there  are  relaxations  evsn  in  artistic  life, 
and  every  Tuesday  afternoon  from  three  o'clock  till 
five  I  am  at  home  to  my  friends.  I  expect  the  mater 
to  receive  my  guests,  and  you  must  promise  to  come, 
Mrs.  Sartwell,  will  you  not  ?  I  will  send  you  cards, 
and  you  will  be  sure  to  meet  some  nice  people.  May 
I  count  on  you?     I  know  the  mater  will  be  pleased.' 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  accept  your  invitation," 
said  Mrs.  Sartwell,  softening  under  the  genial  in- 
fluence of  the  young  man. 

"And  you,  too.  Miss  Sartwell?" 

Edna  looked  somewhat  dubiously  at  her  step- 
mother. 

"You  will  bring  Miss  Sartwell  with  you,  will  you 
not?  "  persisted  the  young  man. 

"  I  am  always  glad  to  do  anything  to  add  to  Edna's 
pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Sartwell,  a  trifle  less  cordially  ; 
"  but  it  must  be  as  her  father  says." 

"  Then  you  will  use  your  influence  with  him.  Miss 
Sartwell,  won't  you,  and  get  him  to  consent.  I  am 
sure  he  will  not  refuse  if  you  care  to  come." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  go,"  said  Edna. 

"  Then  we  will  look  on  it  as  settled." 

When  Barney  stepped  into  his  waiting  hansom,  he 
said  to  himself,  "Ah,  Barney,  my  boy,  you  light  on 
your  feet  as  usual.  What  a  lovely  girl !  and  a  mind 
of  her  own,  too,  if  she  is  so  shy.  Who  would  ever 
have  suspected  grim  old  Sartwell  of  having  such  a 
pretty  daughter !     I  must  persuade  the  mater  to  come 


■  ] 


' 


48 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


off  that  particular  hobbyhorse  of  hers,  for  it  is  easy 
to  see  the  girl  doesn't  want  anyone  to  interfere  with 
uer  father.  If  I  can  bring  the  mater  around  and  get 
the  cheque  too,  I'm  a  diplomatist." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


From  Wimbledon  to  Surbiton  is  comparatively  but 
a  step.  An  enterprising  train,  bent  on  accomplishing 
the  feat,  can  do  the  distance  in  seven  or  eight  minutes, 
and  even  the  slowest  of  "  locals "  takes  but  twelve. 
Barney  was  an  energetic  young  man,  and,  where  a 
cheque  was  concerned,  knew  the  dangers  of  delay ;  so 
he  resolved,  being  in  the  neighbourhood,  to  go  to 
Surbiton,  see  his  mother,  and  settle  the  business. 
The  young  man  often  reassured  himself  by  saying  in- 
wardly that  he  was  no  fool,  and  the  few  minutes  he 
had  to  meditate  on  the  situation,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  No.  3  platform  waiting  for  the  train,  enabled 
him  to  formulate  a  course  of  action. 

Barney  had  a  well-defined  mental  process  by  which 
he  arrived  at  any  plan  of  procedure.  "  The  great 
thing,  my  boy,"  he  used  to  say,  "is  to  know  exactly 
what  you  want,  and  then  go  for  it."  In  going  for  it 
the  young  fellow  trampled  on  anything  that  came  in 
his  path  :  truth,  for  example.  His  one  object  was 
success — the  kind  that  succeeds.  Having  attained 
that,  he  was  careless  of  the  means. 

In  this  instance  what  he  wanted  was  to  prevent  any 
interference  with  Sartwell,  and  he  knew,  if  he  boldly 
opposed  his  mother's  scheme,  such  opposition  would 
inevitably  bring  about  the  meddling  he  desired  to 
avoid,  and  at  the  same  time  place  himself  in  her  bad 
books,  which  was  financially  undesirable. 

"  It  wV\  take  a  bit  of  thinking,"  said  Barney  to  him- 
self, thus  showing  that  he  correctly  estimated  the  dif- 
ficulties of  the  situation,  and  realized  the  shortness  of 
the  distance  between  Wimbledon  and  Surbiton. 


50 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Surbiton  is  a  most  attractive  Surrey  suburb  with  an 
excellent  service  of  trains.  The  houses  are  large,  de- 
tached, and  of  the  class  known  in  the  estate  agents*  vo- 
cabulary as  *'  desirable."  Stockbrokers  in  the  city  are 
attracted  thither  as  much  by  the  rapid  train  service  as 
by  the  desirable  residences  ;  thus  many  of  them  live 
there.  The  rich  and  retired  tradesman  and  the  manu- 
facturer in  a  large  way  have  given  the  place  an  exclu- 
siveness  which  it  could  never  have  attained  if  it  had 
been  a  mere  resort  of  noblemen,  or  a  place  for  the 
housing  of  the  working  classes.  It  is  the  rich  and  re- 
tired tradesman  who  has  given  England  its  reputation 
as  a  cold  and  dignified  nation.  Nothing  can  compare 
with  a  first-class  compartment  from  Surbiton — **  Vaux- 
hall  and  Waterloo  only  " — for  frigid  exclusiveness. 
Sometimes  an  unfortunate  duke  or  marquis,  coming 
from  his  estates  in  the  southwest,  chances  upon  the 
Surbiton  contingent,  and  makes  an  innocent  and 
friendly  remark.  He  is  frozen  into  silence  by  the 
icy  stare  of  the  other  five  occupants  of  the  compart- 
ment. 

Surbiton,  to  a  stranger,  has  the  look  of  a  sea-side 
place.  Some  of  the  streets  are  broad  and  divided  by 
narrow  railed-in  parks.  There  are  benches  here  and 
there,  and  trees  everywhere,  while  an  assembly  hall  in 
the  centre  of  the  town,  and  a  sort  of  marine  parade 
along  the  river,  and  a  band-stand  and  military  concert 
every  Wednesday  evening  during  the  summer,  give  to 
this  charming  suburb  the  air  of  a  coast  resort,  lacking 
only  the  long,  spidery,  cast-iron  pier,  which  Surbiton 
may  yet  build  over  the  river  into  the  Hampton  Court 
grounds,  where  in  spring  the  waters  lie  like  a  broad 
yellow  ocean.  When  that  pier  is  built,  the  charge  for 
admission  will  doubtless  be  fourpence — double  the 
Brighton  price,  for  Surbiton  is  prone  to  attest  its  exclu- 
siveness in  a  manner  that  appeals  to  the  financial  im- 
agination. It  is  proud  of  the  fact  that  its  local  rates 
are  high  (the  Surbiton  improvement  committee  being 
elected  to  attend  to  that  matter)  and  that  a  first-class 


P 
o 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


51 


season  ticket  costs  two  pounds  more  than  to  any  other 
place  an  equal  distance  from  London. 

The  Hope  residence  was  a  large,  square,  yellow 
house,  rather  old-fashioned — "  an  imposing  mansion  " 
was  the  phrase  that  caught  Mrs.  Hope's  eye,  in  the 
Times,  before  she  induced  her  husband  to  buy  it — and 
it  sto  .d  in  extensive  well-wooded  grounds.  Barney 
drove  up  to  it  in  one  of  the  open  victorias  which  stand 
for  hire  at  the  station,  a  class  of  vehicle  that  adds  to 
the  sea-side  appearance  of  Surbiton. 

Telling  the  man  to  wait,  he  sprang  up  the  steps  and 
knocked,  for  there  was  nothing  so  m.odern  as  a  bell  at 
the  front  door.  He  found  his  mother  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  with  her  Lady  Mary  Fanshaw,  who  had 
driven  over  from  her  father's  country  place  in  i-e 
Dorking  direction.  Lady  Mary  was  a  nice  girl,  rather 
shy,  who  blushed  prettily  when  Barney  came  in,  and 
had  a  great  admiration  for  the  young  man's  hitherto 
unappreciated  artistic  talents,  liking  a  painter  better 
than  a  manufacturer.  Her  father,  having  ascertained 
definitely  that  Barney's  possession  of  a  studio  would 
in  no  way  interfere  with  his  ultimate  coming  into  the 
proprietorship  of  the  remunerative  factory,  made  no 
objection  to  the  acquaintanceship  between  the  Hope 
family  and  his  own. 

"  How-de-do,  Lady  Mary,"  cried  the  young  man, 
shaking  hands  with  her.  "  How  are  you,  mater  ?  "  he 
added  to  his  mother,  kissing  her  on  the  cheek. 

"  Barnard,"  said  the  elder  lady,  with  a  touch  of  sever- 
ity in  her  tone, "  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  in  Surbi- 
ton so  soon.  I  thought  you  would  attend  to  the 
business  I  spoke  of." 

**  It's  all  been  attended  to,  mater.  I  don't  let  the 
grass  grow  under  my  feet — not  that  it's  a  good  day  for 
grass  either,"  continued  the  young  man  cheerfully, 
warming  his  hands  at  the  fire.  "  Beastly  weather,"  he 
remarked  to  Lady  Mary,  who  assented  to  the  terse 
statement. 

"  Yes,  mater ;  my  motto  is,  what  is  worth  'doing  is 


'i'»l 


\ 


52 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


worth  doing  quickly — speedily  done  is  twice  done — I 
think  there's  a  proverb  to  that  effect,  don't  you  know. 
If  there's  not,  there  ought  to  be." 

Lady  Mary  rose  to  leave  the  room,  as  mother  and 
son  had  evidently  something  to  discuss  together. 

"  Sit  down,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hope.  "  It  is  nothing 
private.  The  men  at  the  *  works  '  talk  of  going  on 
strike.  The  manager  is  a  stubborn,  unyielding  man, 
given  even  to  browbeating  his  employers " 

"  Bullying,  I  call  it,"  interrupted  Barney,  who  now 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  his  feet  well  apart  on 
the  hearth-rug.  His  mother  went  on  calmly,  without 
noticing  her  son's  interpolation — 

*'  — so  it  seems  to  me  that  such  a  man,  utterly  lack- 
ing in  tact,  might  not  perhaps  be  mindful  of  the 
feelings  of  those  under  him.  We  all  have  our  duties 
towards  the  working  class,  a  fact  many,  alas !  appear 
to  forget." 

Lady  Mary  said  softly,  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  that 
this  was  indeed  the  case. 

**  So  you  saw  Mr.  Sartwell,  Barnard?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  saw  ^artwell,  and  ad  a  talk  with  some 
of  the  men — with  the — ah — ringleaders,  don't  you 
know." 

"  You  mean  the  leaders,  Barnard." 

"  Yes,  something  of  that  sort.  I  don't  pretend  to 
understand  the  bally  workingman,  you  know,  but 
there's  lots  of  sense  in  what  they  say.  They  know 
what  they  want." 

"  Did  you  find  Mr.  Sartwell  obdurate?" 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  no,  mater.  Sartwell's  the  most  rea- 
sonable of  men." 

"  Indeed?  It  never  occurred  to  me  to  place  him  in 
that  category." 

"  Don't  you  make  any  mistake  about  Sartwell, 
mater ;  you  won't  find  him  stand  in  your  way  at  all 
He's  perfectly  willing  to  do  whatever  you  want  done. 
*  Barney,  my  boy,'  he  said  to  me,  when  I  told  him 
what  you  thought  about  this :  irouble,  *  Barney,'  says 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


53 


I, 


he,  *  after  all  is  said  and  done,  it's  the  women's  affair 
more  than  ours.'  " 

"  The  women's  affair !  "  said  Mrs.  Hope,  drawing 
herself  severely  up.  "  Do  I  understand  you  to  mean, 
Barnard,  that  the  man  was  referring  to  Mrs.  Monkton 
and  myself  ?  " 

"Well,  mater,  you  see  we  were  talking  freely  to- 
gether as  man  to  man — and — hang  it  all !  you  know,  it 
is  your  affair  and  Mrs.  Monkton's,  more  than  old 
Monkton's  and  father's.  I  don't  suppose  they  care  so 
very  much." 

Mrs.  Hope  slowly  raised  her  glasses  to  her  eyes  and 
stared  at  her  son,  who  was  looking  at  :he  hearth-rug 
now,  resting  his  weight  on  his  toes  and  then  coming 
down  on  his  heels. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Barnard." 

"  I  am  talking  about  the  proposed  strike,  mater  ; 
about  the  demands  of  the  men." 

"  Requests,  my  son.  The  men  request  an  audience 
with  Mr.  Sartwell,  and  he  refuses  it,  as  if  he  were 
Prime  Minister." 

"That's  just  what  I  said  to  Sartwell.  'Sartwell,' 
said  I,  '  you're  high-handed  with  the  men.'  He  ad- 
mitted it,  but  held  that  if  he  had  a  conference  with 
them,  no  good  would  be  accomplished  unless  he  ac- 
ceeded  to  their  dem — requests." 

"  He  could  compromise — he  could  make  some  con- 
cessions and  then  everything  would  go  smoothly 
again.     He  has  no  tact." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so.  But  you  see  the  men  want 
only  one  thing,  not  several.  They  are  perfectly  logical 
about  it — I  had  a  talk  with  them  and  they  were  very 
much  gratified  to  hear  that  you  were  on  their  side. 
There  will  be  no  trouble  with  them  in  future  if  Sart- 
well is  o:ily  reasonable.  They  look  at  it  like  this : 
they  wo.  k  ten  hours  a  day  and  get  on  an  average  a 
pound  a  week — or — ah — something  like  that — I  forget 
the  exact  amount,  although  they  had  it  there  in  shil- 


i.   (1 


i 


54 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1 


and 


Now  fath( 


id  Monkton  work  foui 


pence. 

or  five  hours  a  day — not  very  hard  either — and  go  to 
Switzerland  in  the  summer  and  Algiers  in  the  winter, 
yet  they  draw  twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year  each  out 
of  the  business.  This,  the  men  claim,  is  unjust,  and  of 
course  I  quite  agree  with  them.  It's  outrageous,  and 
I  said  so.  Well,  the  men  are  prepared  to  do  the  most 
generous  things.  In  order  to  compromise,  they  will 
allow  the  partners  ten  times  what  the  real  workers  get ; 
Monkton  and  father  are  each  to  draw  five  hundred 
pounds  a  year  out  of  the  business,  and  the  forty  thou- 
sand pounds  is  to  be  divided  among  the  workers.  I 
thought  that  it  was  an  exceedingly  liberal  proposal, 
and  I  told  them  so." 

During  this  able,  if  mythical,  exposition  of  the 
workmen's  views,  Mrs.  Hope  gazed  at  her  son  with 
ever-increased  amazement.  When  he  had  concluded, 
she  was  standing  up,  apparently  speechless,  with  an 
ominous  frown  on  her  brow.  Lady  Mary  looked  with 
timid  anxiety  from  one  to  the  other.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  sweet  reasonableness  in  the  young  man's  argu- 
ment, and  yet  something  hopelessly  wrong  about  the 
proposition. 

"Five  hundred  pounds  a  year! — to  me!"  cried 
Mrs.  Hope,  at  last. 

"  Well — to  father,  technically — same  thing,  of 
course." 

**  Five  hundred  a  year!  Barnard,  if  anyone  had 
told  me  an  ho  -  ago  that  you  were  a  fool  I — five 
hundred  a  yeai  —how  can  people  exist  on  five  hun- 
dred a  year?" 

Barney  looked  reproachfully  at  his  mother.  He 
was  evidently  hurt. 

"  That's  just  the  way  Sartwell  talks,  and  I  suppose 
he  thinks  I'm  a  fool,  too,  merely  because  I'm  try- 
ing to  understand  the  labour  problem.  It  seemed 
t^  me  that  if  a  workman  with  twelve  children  to 
support  can  live  on  fifty  pounds  a  year,  an  elderly 
pair  with  but   one  child,  and   he   about  to  make  a 


'3 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


55 


fortune  in  painting,  could  get  along  on  ten  times 
that   amount." 

*'  Oh,  I've  no  patience  with  you,  Barnard." 

"  And  then,  Sartwell  says,  look  at  the  capital  in- 
vested  " 

"  Certainly.  He  is  perfectly  right,  and  anyone  with 
a  grain  of  sense  would  see  that.  There  are  thousands 
and  thousands  expended  in  the  buildings  and  in  the 
development  of  the  business.  The  workmen  never 
think  of  that — nor  you  either,  it  appears." 

"You  see,  mater,  it's  out  of  my  line.  But  what 
Sartwell  said  about  investment  made  me  think " 

"  Think !  "  exclaimed  his  mother,  with  withering  con- 
tempt. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Barney,  placidly ;  "  so  I  went  to 
the  workmen  to  see  what  they  had  to  say  about  it. 
They  said  at  once  that  the  capital  had  been  refunded 
over  and  over  again.  I  went  back  to  Sartwell  to  see 
if  this  were  true,  and  it  was  true.     Well,  then " 

"  What  then?" 

"  Under  the  circumstances  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
workmen  had  made  a  most  magnanimous  proposal. 
If  a  man  would  paint  a  picture  for  me  which  I  could 
sell  for  five  hundred  pounds  and  he  was  content  to 
take  fifty  for  it  and  leave  me  the  other  four  hundred 
and  fifty,  I  should  think  him  the  most  generous  of 
men." 

"  Stop  talking  nonsense,  please.  Is  Sartwell  going 
to  receive  the  men  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Then  you  must  instantly  go  back  to  the  city  and 
tell  him  he  is  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 

''  But,  mater — "  protested  the  young  man.  He 
looked  uneasily  around  the  room  and  saw  that  Lady 
Mary  had  slipped  away  unperceived. 

"  Don't  talk.  You've  done  enough  harm  already. 
Try  and  undo  it." 

*'  But  I  say !  It's  rather  rough  on  me,  mater. 
When  you  promised  me  a  cheque  for  three  hundred,  I 


« 


Ml 


il 


0 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


didn't  imagine  I  would  have  to  see  old  Sartwell  a 
second  time  and  take  back  all  I  said.  He  would  think 
me  an  ass  then." 

**  He  t!.inks  it  already.  But  it  doesn't  matter  what 
he  thinks.  It  is  what  he  does  that  you  have  to  deal 
with.  You  must  see  him  at  once  and  stop  this  non- 
sense about  a  conference." 

Barney  shook  his  head  dolefully. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  face  him  again,  mater.  I'd 
rather  lose  the  three-hundred-pound  cheque." 

"The  cheque  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question. 
I  should  hope  you  are  not  attending  to  this  for  the 
three  hundred  pounds.  But  I'll  write  you  a  cheque 
for  five  hundred,  if  that  will  satisfy  you.  Then  I  hope 
to  hear  no  more  about  five  hundred  a  year.  Be  con- 
sistent at  least,  Barnard." 

"  Thanks,  mater,  I'll  try.  And  while  you  are  writ- 
ing out  the  cheque  I'll  have  a  word  with  Lady  Mary." 

"  Very  well,"  said  his  mother,  rising.  The  request 
did  not  seem  to  displease  her. 

When  the  young  lady  came  in  Barney  was  wonder- 
fully bright  after  his  long  discussion. 

"  I  was  afraid  I  was  in  the  way,"  said  Lady  Mary, 
modestly,  "  I  don't  know  much  about  work-people." 

"  The  labour  question,"  said  Barney,  "  is  an  exceed- 
ingly intricate  one,  and  I'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand it  in  all  its  bearings  myself;  but  it's  most 
interesting,  I  assure  you — most  interesting.  I'm  a 
labouring  man  myself,  now.  I've  got  my  studio  all 
fitted  up,  and  I  work  like  a — let's  see,  is  it  a  Turk — or 
a  nigger?" 

"  I  think  a  nailer  is  the  simile  you  want.** 

"  Very  likely.  I  don't  suppose  a  Turk  works  if  he 
can  help  it.  Oh,  by  the  way.  Lady  Mary,  I  have  *  At 
Homes'  at  my  studio  every  Tuesday  from  three  till 
five.  I  wish  you  would  come.  Get  your  father  to 
bring  you.  I  want  a  real  live  Lord,  don't  you  know, 
to — well — to  give  tone  to  the  gathering." 

Lady  Mary  laughed. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


57 


"  I  should  like  to  go  very  much.  I  was  never  in  a 
studio  since  I  had  my  portrait  painted.  I'll  ask  my 
father,  but  he  doesn't  go  out  very  often." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  can  get  him  to  come,  so  that's  a 
promise." 

In  the  hall  his  mother  handed  Barney  a  cheque. 

"  Be  sure  you  go  at  once  to  Sartwell,"  she  said,  "  and 
see  that  you  don't  bungle  the  business  a  second  time." 

And  yet  the  poor  boy  had  merely  pretended  that 
her  former  orders  had  been  carried  out!  Barney 
made  no  rem.ark  about  the  inconsistency  of  woman. 
He  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  as  a  dutiful  son  should 
do,  and  departed. 


i 


II? 


ii 


CHAPTER  VII. 


In  almost  any  other  country  than  England  the 
name  by  which  the  evil-smelling  cul-de-sac  off  Light 
Street  was  known  might  be  supposed  to  have  been 
given  it  by  some  cynical  humourist.  It  was  called 
Rose  Garden  Court.  As  there  is  a  reason  for  almost 
everything  in  this  world,  the  chances  are  that  once 
upon  a  time  a  garden  stood  there,  and  that  roses  pro- 
bably bloomed  in  it.  The  entrance  to  the  court  was 
through  an  archway,  over  which,  on  the  Light  Street 
side,  was  the  name  of  the  court.  At  the  right  hand 
of  this  tunnel  stood  the  **  Rose  and  Crown,"  locally 
known  as  the  "  pub,"  and  the  door  of  the  jug  and 
bottle  department  opened  into  the  passage,  which  was 
convenient  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  court.  On  the 
left  of  the  archway  there  was  a  second-hand  clothing 
shop,  the  wares,  exceedingly  second  hand,  hanging  in 
tattered  festoons  about  the  door. 

A  street  lamp  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  pavement,  op- 
posite the  entrance  to  the  court,  and  threw  its  rays 
under  the  archway,  which  somewhat  feeble  illumina- 
tion was  supplemented  by  a  gas  jet  over  the  door  of 
the  jug  and  bottle  department.  At  the  blind  end  of 
Rose  Garden  Court  stood  another  lamp  post.  The 
court  was  unevenly  paved  with  large  slabs  of  stone, 
sloppy,  as  a  rule,  from  the  overflow  of  a  tap  which 
supplied  the  inhabitants  with  water. 

The  court  was  walled  about  with  five-story   build- 
ings, and  in  the  oblong  well,  formed  by  these  rather 
dilapidated  edifices,  the   air  hung   dank   and  heavy 
laden  with  many  smells.     Breezes  blowing  over  Lon- 
don from  the  south,  or  the  north,  or  the  west,  produced 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


59 


no  movement  of  the  noxious  air  in  Rose  Garden  Court. 
"  Come  out,"  the  gale  from  the  Surrey  hills  might  cry 
as  it  whistled  merrily  over  the  house-tops;  '*  come 
out,  and  give  the  people  a  chance  to  breathe," — but 
there  was  no  answering  rustle  in  the  court — the  air 
there  was  silent  and  sullen,  as  if  it  had  taken  its  tem- 
per from  the  inhabitants  of  the  place. 

Sometimes,  in  early  spring,  the  insistent  east  wind 
roared  boisterously  through  the  tunnel,  catching  the 
mephitic  atmosphere  unawares  and  flinging  it  head- 
long over  the  roofs,  filling  the  court  with  a  biting 
whirlwind,  scattering  loose  bits  of  paper  and  rags  sky- 
wards, but  the  inhabitants  of  the  court  didn't  like  it. 
They  closed  their  windows,  shivered,  and  wished  the 
gale  would  cease.  Next  day  the  air  would  settle 
down  quietly  in  the  court,  collect  its  odours  once 
more,  and  then  everybody  felt  that  things  were  as  they 
should  be. 

The  court  was  a  property  that  paid  handsomely. 
No  one  residing  there  knew  who  owned  the  buildings 
or  the  ground.  The  man  who  collected  the  room  rents 
did  so  promptly  in  advance,  and  he  had  once  told  the 
landlord  of  the  '*  Rose  and  Crown  "  that  the  court  was 
more  lucrative  as  an  investment  than  if  it  had  been 
situated  in  the  Grosvenor  Square  district.  The  owner 
was  popularly  supposed  to  have  farmed  the  property 
to  a  company,  and  the  rent-collector  represented  this 
organization.  The  company  could  not  be  expected 
to  spend  money  on  repairs,  the  owner  could  not  be 
reached,  and,  aside  from  all  that,  the  rooms  were  in 
constant  demand ;  so  if  a  tenant  did  not  like  the 
arrangement  he  could  get  out — there  were  a  dozen 
others  ready  to  take  his  place. 

The  peoole  who  lived  in  this  human  warren  were 
not  criminals.  Most  of  them  did  something  useful  for 
the  living  they  received.  Criminals,  when  convicted, 
are  housed  in  a  much  more  sanitary  manner,  and  they 
are  sure  of  enough  to  eat — which  the  denizens  of  the 
court  were  not.     If  any  prison  in  the  kingdom  were 


1 


i  vl 


'I!  ( 


ii  ! 


:i    I 


6o 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


as  fetid  as  Rose  Garden  Court,  the  great  heart  of  the 
nation  would  be  stirred  with  indignation,  and  some 
wretch  in  authority  would  feel  the  lash  of  righteous 
public  scorn.  The  court  was  merely  fairly  representa- 
tive of  the  home  of  the  British  workingman,  in  the 
wisest,  largest,  proudest,  most  wealthy  city  in  the 
world,  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  after  a 
thousand  years,  more  or  less,  of  progress.  Some  homes 
of  the  workingmen  are  better;  but  then  some  are 
worse,  for  we  must  never  forget  that  we  have  the  "  art- 
isan's improved  dwellings  "  amongst  us.  The  occu- 
pants of  the  "improved  dwellings"  are  hedged  about 
with  restrictions,  but  in  the  court  was  freedom :  free- 
dom to  come  and  go  as  you  liked ;  freedom  to  get 
drunk ;  freedom  to  loaf  or  work ;  freedom  to  starve. 

The  personal  predilections  of  the  courtites  were 
much  the  same  as  those  of  habitues  of  first-class  West 
End  clubs.  They  liked  to  drink  and  gamble.  The 
"  pub"  was  at  the  entrance,  and  there,  or  at  the  barber- 
shop, they  could  place  a  little  on  a  horse  they  knew 
nothing  of.  One  of  the  advantages  of  a  free  country 
is  that  a  man  can  get  quite  as  drunk  on  beer  as  he  can 
on  champagne,  and  at  a  much  less  cost.  The  results 
are  wonderfully  similar.  It  is  popularly  believed  that 
a  policeman  in  Piccadilly  is  kinder  to  a  client  in  a 
dress  joat,  than  a  fellow-officer  on  Waterloo  Road  is 
to  a  man  in  moleskins. 

Rose  Garden  Court  had  little  trouble  with  the  police, 
although  the  court— especially  the  feminine  portion 
of  it — looked  somewhat  askance  at  the  force.  All  a 
policeman  asked  of  a  drunken  dweller  in  the  court  was, 
that  if  he  wanted  to  fight  he  should  fight  in  the  court, 
and  not  on  a  busy  thoroughfare  like  Light  Street.  In 
the  court  the  wives  of  the  combatants  usually  took 
charge  of  them  before  the  battle  had  been  fought  to 
a  finish,  and  sometimes  a  tall  policeman  watched  over 
the  separation  of  temporary  foes,  saying  little  unless 
one  of  the  fighters  resisted  the  wife  who  was  vocif- 
erously shoving  him  towards  his  own  doorway,  when 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


6i 


the  officer  would  say :  **  Come  now,  my  man,  none  of 
that,"  whereupon,  strangely  enough,  it  was  the  woman 
who  resented  the  officer's  interference  for  her  pro- 
tection, though  when  her  man  proceeded  to  abuse  a 
member  of  the  force  also,  she  quickly  told  him  to  "  shut 

his mouth,"  using  an  adjective  that  was  at  once 

sanguinary  and  descriptive.  Often  a  stalwart  polic'=i- 
man  would  take  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  an  inhab- 
itant of  the  court  staggering  along  Light  Street,  filling 
the  a;r  with  melody  or  defiance,  and  walk  him  rapidly 
down  the  street,  the  man's  legs  wobbling  about  uncer- 
tainly, as  if  he  were  a  waxwork  automaton,  until  they 
were  opposite  the  entrance  of  the  court ;  then,  having 
received  the  required  impetus  from  the  officer,  the 
man  shot'under  the  archway  and  was  presumably  taken 
care  of  when  he  got  inside :  anyhow,  once  in  the  court 
he  could  not  get  out  again  except  by  the  way  he 
entered,  and  few  ever  became  drunk  enough  to  forget 
there  was  always  a  policeman  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  thrust  under  the  archway  was  merely  the  kindly 
Light  Street  way  of  doing  the  Piccadilly  act  of  plac- 
ing a  man  tenderly  in  a  cab  and  telling  the  driver 
where  to  go.  Few  were  ever  actually  arrested  in  the 
Light  Street  district,  and  their  conduct  had  to  be  par- 
ticularly flagrant  to  bring  upon  them  this  last  resort 
of  the  force. 

Along  Light  Street  came  Marsten,  with  the  elastic 
springy  energetic  step  of  a  young  man  in  good  health, 
who  takes  this  world  seriously  and  believes  there  is 
something  to  be  done  in  it.  He  paused  for  a  moment 
opposite  the  "  Rose  and  Crown,"  and  nodded  to  some 
men  who  were  lounging  there. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  meeting  to-night,  men  ?  "  he 
asked. 

One  shook  his  head,  another  shrugged  his  shoulders  ; 
it  was  evident  at  a  glance  that  none  of  them  had 
any  interest  in  the  meeting  while  the  *'  pub  "  remained 
open. 

"  It's  important,"  said  Marsten.     "  The  committee 


I    !■ 


m 


[■. 


62 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


reports  to-night,  and  '  strike  or  no  strike  '  will  likely  be 
put  to  vote.  You  are  not  in  favor  of  a  strike,  surely  ? 
Then  come  along  and  vote  against  it." 

"  I  dunno'  'bout  that,"  said  one,  removing  his  pipe. 
*'  Strike  pay  is  as  good  as  master's  pay,  an'  less  work 
to  get  it.     I  could  do  with  a  bit  of  an  'oliday." 

"  Strike  pay  may  be  as  good  as  mastci's  while  it 
lasts,  but  it  won't  last,"  rejoined  Marsten. 

**  When  it  gives  out  we'll  go  back  to  work,"  returned 
the  man.     The  others  laughed. 

"  Some  of  you  won't  get  back,"  said  Marsten. 
"  That's  always  the  way  after  a  strike.  Better  keep  a 
good  job  while  we  have  it." 

"  Oh,  I  could  do  with  a  bit  of  an  'oliday,"  repeated 
the  spokesman  of  the  '*  pub  "  crowd,  indifferently. 

"  My  God  !  "  cried  Marsten,  indignantly,  "  if  you 
take  no  more  interest  in  your  condition  than  that,  how 
can  you  ever  expect  to  better  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  thort,"  answered  the  other,  good-naturedly, 
"  when  I  sees  you  a-comin'  along,  as  'ow  you'd  better 
it  by  arstin'  us  to  'ave  a  drop  o'  beer  with  you." 

**  You're  muddled  with  beer  already,"  said  the  young 
man  shortly,  as  he  turned  and  disappeared  up  the 
court. 

The  crowd  smoked  on  in  silence  for  some  minutes 
after  he  had  left  them. 

**  Cocky  young  feller  that,"  said  one  at  last,  jerking 
his  pipe  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  Marsten  had 
gone. 

"  Oh,  'e  knows  a  bit,  'e  does,"  remarked  another, 
sarcastically. 

There  was  a  longer  pause,  when  the  spokesman,  who 
had  been  ruminating  over  the  matter,  said  : 

"Wot  d'  ye  s'y  t'  'avin  another  pint  insoide?  Then 
we  go  t'  th'  meetin'  and  wote  for  th'  stroike.  Larn  'im 
a  lesson.  I  like  'is  impidence,  I  do.  Tork  'bout  mud- 
dlin' ;  we'll  show  'oose  muddled." 

This  was  unanimously  agreed  to  as  illuminating  the 
situation.     It  is  perhaps  a  pity  that  Marsten  did  not 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


63 


know  the  result  of  his  brief  conversation  with  his  fel- 
low-workmen. He  was  young  and  had  to  learn  many- 
things.  He  did  not  know  that  the  desire  for  improv- 
ing one's  condition  is  not  at  all  universal,  and  that 
even  where  there  may  be  the  germ  of  a  desire,  people 
do  not  wish  to  be  dragooned  into  bettering  themselves. 
Tact,  as  Mrs.  Hope  might  have  told  him,  goes  farther 
than  good  intentions.  A  drop  of  beer  and  a  friendly 
smite  on  the  shoulder  would  have  got  him  several 
votes  against  the  strike.  As  it  was,  he  had  merely 
strengthened  the  arms  of  "  that  ass  Gibbons,"  by  mak- 
ing the  mic  :ake  of  supposing  that  the  average  human 
being  is  actuated  by  reason. 

Meanwhile,  the  young  man  had  passed  under  the 
archway  and  up  the  court,  until  he  came  to  doorway 
No.  3.  T!ie  hall,  and  the  five  pairs  of  grimy  stairs, 
were  only  less  public  than  the  court,  which  in  its  turn 
was  only  less  public  than  Light  Street,  because  fewer 
feet  trod  thereon.  He  ascended  the  first  flight  of 
stairs  and  paused  at  one  of  the  doors  of  the  landing. 
From  within  came  the  droning  notes  of  a  harmonium, 
and  Marsten  forebore  to  knock  as  he  listened  to  the 
sound.  A  slatternly  woman  came  down  the  second 
flight  with  a  water-jug  in  her  hand.  She  stopped,  on 
seeing  a  stranger  standing  there,  and  listened  to  the 
music  also.  The  dirge  being  played  did  not  soothe 
whatever  savageness  there  was  within  the  breast  of 
the  woman,  for  she  broke  out  against  the  inmates  of 
the  rooms. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  cried.  "  Fine  goin'son  for  the  likes 
o*  them.  A  harmonyum,  if  you  please.  Gawd  save 
us !  we  ain't  good  enough  for  the  likes  o'  'im.  A  har- 
monyum !  In  Garden  Court !  No  good  can  come  o* 
'stravagance  like  that.  Wot's  'e,  I'd  like  to  know? 
Bah ! " 

Th  vvoman,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand,  expressed  her 
contempt  for  such  goings  on  and  departed  down  the 
stairs  with  her  jug.  Her  husband  spent  his  spare  cash 
at  the  "  pub,"  as  a  man  should,  and  not  in  such  vani- 


>i 


1   f\ 


'1 


64 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ties  as  a  second-hand  musical  instrument.  She  had, 
very  properly,  no  patience  with  extravagance. 

Marsten  rapped  when  the  playing  ceased,  and  Joe 
Braunt  himself  came  to  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  my  boy,"  he  said  cordially,  and  Marsten 
went  in. 

A  tall  girl,  who  might  hive  been  fourteen,  or  sixteen, 
or  eighteen,  rose  from  a  chair  at  the  harmonium.  She 
was  pale  and  thin,  with  large  pathetic  eyes  that  gave 
a  melancholy  beauty  to  her  face.  Shaking  hands  with 
her, — "  How  are  you,  Jessie  ?  "  said  Marsten.  "  Is  the 
cough  any  better?  " 

*'  I  think  it's  always  about  the  same,"  answered  the 
girl. 

"  It  is  hard  to  get  better  in  this  hole,"  said  her 
father,  gruffly. 

Braunt  spoke  with  the  accent  of  a  Yorkshireman. 
He  was  a  man  who  in  stature  and  build  did  credit  to 
his  county,  and  it  was  "hard  to  believe  that  the  slender 
girl  was  his  daughter.  However  much  Joe  Braunt's 
neighbours  disapproved  of  his  putting  on  airs  and 
holding  himself  and  his  slim  useless  daughter  above 
their  betters,  they  took  good  care  not  to  express  their 
opinions  m  his  hearing,  for  he  was  a  rough  masterful 
man,  taciturn  and  gloomy,  whose  blow  was  readier 
than  his  speech  ;  not  only  prompt,  but  effective.  The 
whole  court  was  afraid  of  him,  and  it  acted  on  the 
principle  of  letting  sleeping  dogs  lie.  The  woman 
with  the  jug  in  her  hand  had  good  cause  for  resent- 
ment against  Joe  Braunt.  She  had  been  getting  her 
**  man  "  home  one  even  ig  from  the  "  pub,"  with  diffi- 
culty, and  in  spite  of  many  breakings  away  on  his 
part.  She  had  succeeded  in  pushing  and  hauling  him 
as  far  as  the  first  landing,  when  he,  overcome  by  a 
sudden  realization  of  her  unnecessary  cruelty  in  drag- 
ging him  from  the  brilliantly  lighted  public  bar  filled 
with  jollity,  gin,  and  good  comradeship,  to  the  dismal 
back  room  two  flights  up,  with  nothing  but  her  own 
bitter  tongue  for  company,  clenched  his  fist  and  felled 


i 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


65 


I 


her  to  the  floor,  the  back  of  her  head  striking  against 
Braunt's  door  as  she  went  down.  Braunt,  pulling  open 
his  door,  found  the  husband  walking  over — or  perhaps 
it  would  be  more  accurate  to  say,  staggering  over — the 
prostrate  body  of  his  wife.  Joe  clutched  the  drunk- 
ard and  flung  him  airily  over  the  landing  rail.  The 
ill-used  man  rolled  down  the  stair  and  out  into  the 
court,  where  he  lay  in  a  heap  and  groaned.  Braunt 
lifted  the  woman  and  carried  her  up  to  her  room. 
She  had  a  dazed  idea  of  what  had  happened,  and  at 
once,  rather  incoherently  at  first,  began  to  give  her 
rescuer  her  opinion  of  him.  Who  was  he,  she  would 
like  to  know,  to  interfere  between  man  and  wife,  great 
strong  brute  that  he  was.  If  her  man  had  been  sober 
he*d  have  given  him  what  for,  takin*  advantage  of  a 
man  wot  *ad  a  dron  too  much.  Braunt  went  down 
stairs  and  picked  up  the  "  pore  **  man,  who  had  cer- 
tainly had  one  drop  too  much,  carried  him  up,  and  laid 
him  in  his  room  with  his  wife. 

"  You've  killed  the  pore  man,  as  never  did  no  'arm 
to  you,"  screamed  the  wife. 

" No  such  luck,"  said  Braunt;  "he*s  too  drunk  to 
hurt." 

Which  was,  indeed,  the  case.  Joe  drew  the  door 
shut  behind  him,  and  left  them  to  fight  it  out  if  they 
wanted  to. 

Mrs.  Scimmins  had  much  sympathy  from  the  court 
when  she  related  the  incident.  The  women  were 
more  indignant  than  the  men.  It  w-^s  a  fine  state  of 
things  if  a  great,  hulking,  sulky  brute  like  Braunt  was 
to  interfere  in  little  matrimonial  discussions  that  hap- 
pen in  all  well-regulated  families.  Much  as  they  dis- 
liked the  police,  it  seemed  that  now,  if  ever,  their  aid 
should  be  invoked. 

"If  he*d  tried  to  break  every  bone  in  my  man*s 
body,  Mrs.  Scimmins,"  said  one  bulky  woman,  "  I'd  'a 
'ad  'im  by  the  air." 

"  I  donno  'bout  that,  Sarah,"  said  Mrs.  Scimmins, 
who  did  not  wish  to  rest  under  the  imputation  of  not 


■S 


H\ 


111 


(£ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


;    I 


\^   'I 


V 


doing  all  she  could,  under  the  circumstances,  for  her 
husband  in  his  comparatively  helpless  state.  "  Wot 
with  bein'  'it  in  the  'ead,  an'  the  face,  an*  the  back, 
an*  then  my  *ead  strikin'  the  door,  an'  one  eye  as  I 
couldn't  see  out  o*,  an'  yer  'usban'  a-tramplin'  of  yer, 
yer  wouldn't  'ave  breath  enough  to  'ave  anybody  by 
the  'air." 

Mrs.  Scimmins  pressed  tenderly  the  bruised  and 
still  swollen  portion  of  her  face  under  the  eye,  and  felt 
that  she  had  made  out  her  case ;  in  fact,  her  defence 
was  accepted  as  a  strong  plea  that  only  made  Braunt's 
inhuman  and  uncalled  for  conduct  stand  out  the 
darker  by  comparison. 

The  men  were  astonished,  of  course,  but  not  so  em- 
phatic in  their  denunciation  of  Braunt  as  the  wives 
had  been.  Scimmins  bore  no  particular  malice  against 
his  assailant,  although  what  he  had  thrown  him  over 
the  stairs  for,  he  expressed  himself  as  unable  to  con- 
ceive. In  answer  to  sympathetic  inquiries  from  his 
pals  at  the  public  bar  of  the  "  Rose  and  Crown,"  he  in- 
formed them  that,  although  shaky,  he  was  still  in  the 
ring. 

"  Gawd  'elp  us !  "  he  went  on,  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger,  "  wot's  this  world  a-comin'  to?  If  you  arsts 
me  I  gives  it  up.  Wot  with  Braunt  an'  the  police 
both  on  a  chap's  shoulders,  if  he  raises  'is  'and  to  'is 
own  wife,  the  court's  no  fit  place  for  a  pore  'ard- 
workin'  man  to  live  in." 

But  nobody  ventured  to  remonstrate  with  the  York- 
shireman,  least  of  all  Scimmins,  although  the  court  as 
a  community  held  more  aloof  from  him  than  ever. 

"Are  you  coming  to  the  meeting  to-night,  Mr. 
Braunt  ?  "  asked  young  Marsten,  when  he  had  greeted 
father  and  daughter. 

"  Not  me." 

''Why  not?" 

"  W  hy  go  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  Mr.  Braunt,  there  is  a  crisis  on. 
The  committee  is  to  report.     Mr.  Sartwell  has  refused 


1 


I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


67 


to  meet  them,  and  this  will  likely  anger  Gibbons  and 
the  others.  Strike  or  no  strike  will  be  put  to  vote, 
a  id  I  for  one  don't  want  to  see  a  strike — at  least  not 
just  now." 

"  No  more  do  I,"  said  Braunt. 

"Then  come  on  to  the  meeting  and  speak  up 
against  a  strike." 

*'  I'm  no  speaker.     You  speak." 

"They  won't  listen  to  me,  but  they  would  pay  at- 
tention to  what  you  would  say." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  lad.  But  it  doesnl  matter  to 
me,  not  a  haporth." 

"  What  doesn't  ?  Whether  there  is  a  strike  or 
not?" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  strike.  They  can  do  as  they've 
a  mind." 

"  But  if  the  Union  orders  us  out  we'll  have  to  go." 

"  Not  me." 

"  Supposing  the  strike  succeeds,  as  it  may — the 
Union's  very  strong, — what  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  Stick  to  my  work,  and  mind  my  own  business." 

"  But  the  Union  won't  let  you.  If  the  strike  fails 
you'll  merely  get  the  ill  will  of  all  the  men  ;  if  it  suc- 
ceeds they'll  force  you  out  of  the  works.  There's  no 
use  running  your  head  against  a  brick  wall,  Mr. 
Braunt." 

"You  speak;  you've  got  the  gift  o'  the  gab,"  said 
Braunt. 

"  I'm  too  young.  They  won't  listen  to  me  now. 
But  a  day  will  come  when  they  will — aye,  and  the 
masters,  too.  I'd  willingly  devote  my  life  to  the 
cause  of  the  workingman." 

Marsten  spoke  with  the  fire  of  youthful  enthu- 
siasm, and  was  somewhat  disconcerted  when  the 
other  took  hi^  jipe  from  his  mouth  and  laughed. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  " 

"  Fm  laughing  at  you.  I'm  glad  to  know  there's 
some  one  that  believes  in  us,  but  as  thou  says,  thou 
'art  yoong;  thou'U  know  bette.  later  on." 


1^ 


68 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  Don't  you  believe  in  yourself  and  your  fellow- 
workers?  " 

**  Not  me.  I  know  'em  too  well.  By  the  sweat  of 
thy  brow  shalt  thou  earn  thy  bread.  Them's  not  the 
right  words,  happv^n  ;  but  that's  the  meaning.  It  har> 
been,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be.     Amen." 

•'  I  don't  object  to  that,  Mr.  Braunt,"  cried  the 
young  man,  rising  and  pacing  the  floor  in  his  excite- 
ment. "  Don't  think  it.  But  I  want  to  see  every- 
body work.  What  I  object  to  is  earning  your  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  the  hired  man's  brov^  as  someone  has 
said.  Bless  me !  look  at  our  numbers.  We  outnum- 
ber the  loafers  ten  to  one;  yes,  a  hundred  to  one  in 
every  country  in  the  world.  All  we  need  is  an  unsel- 
fish leader." 

The  elder  man  looked  at  him  with  a  quizzical  smile 
on  his  stern  lips. 

"  Look  at  the  number  of  the  sands  on  the  seaside. 
Will  any  leader  make  a  rope  out  of  them  ?  Numbers 
are  nothing,  my  lad.  Take  care  of  yourself,  Marsten, 
and  never  mind  the  workers ;  that's  the  rule  of  the 
world.  You  may  pull  yourself  up,  but  you  can't  lift 
themx  with  you.  They've  broken  the  hearts — aye,  and 
the  heads  too,  of  many  a  one  that  tried  to  better 
them.  You  think  you  have  only  the  masters  and 
capital  to  fight.  The  masters  won't  hurt  you ;  it's 
the  men  you're  fighting  for  that  will  down  you. 
Wait  till  your  head  is  an  inch  above  the  crowd,  then 
you'll  catch  it  from  the  sticks  of  every  rotten  one  of 
them  that  thinks  he's  got  as  much  right  as  you  have 
to  be  in  command.  It  isn't  money  that  helps  the 
masters,  it's  because  they've  the  sense  to  know  a  good 
mail  when  they  see  him,  and  to  stand  by  him  Avhen 
they've  got  him.  Don't  be  deluded  by  numbers. 
What's  the  good  of  them?  One  determined  man 
who  doesn't  need  to  bother  ubout  his  backing — who 
knows  his  principals  will  back  him  through  thick  and 
thin — will  beat  any  mob.  Why  can  a  small  company 
of   soldiers  put  down  a  riot?     It's   because   they're 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


69 


commanded  by  one  man.  When  he  says  'jump,'  they 
jump ;  when  he  says  *  shoot,'  they  shoot.  That's  the 
whole  secret  of  it." 

Braunt  resumed  his  pipe,  and  smoked  vigorously  to 
get  back  to  his  usual  state  of  taciturnity.  Marsten 
had  never  heard  him  talk  so  long  before,  and  he  stood 
pondering  what  had  been  said.  Braunt  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"  Play  the  Dead  March,  Jessie,"  he  said,  gruffly. 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment,  evidently  loath  to 
begin  when  Marsten  was  in  the  room,  a  slight  hectic 
colour  mounting  to  her  cheek:  but  obedience  was 
strong  in  her ;  her  father  was  not  a  man  to  be  dis- 
obeyed. She  drew  up  her  chair,  and  began  Chopin's 
Funeral  March,  playing  it  very  badly,  but  still  recog- 
nizably. 

Peace  seemed  to  come  over  Braunt  as  he  listened  to 
the  dirge.  He  sat  back  in  the  chair,  his  eyes  on  the 
ceiling,  smoking  steadily.  Marsten  sat  down,  medi- 
tating on  what  Braunt  had  said.  He  was  not  old 
enough  to  have  his  opinions  fixed,  and  to  be  imper- 
vious to  argument,  so  Braunt's  remarks  troubled  him. 
He  hoped  they  were  not  true,  but  feared  they  might 
be.  The  mournful  cadence  of  the  music,  which 
seemed  to  soothe  the  soul  of  the  elder  man,  wound 
itself  among  the  younger's  thoughts,  and  dragged 
them  towards  despair ;  the  indifference  of  the  men  in 
front  of  the  public-house  flashed  across  his  memory 
and  depressed  him.  He  wished  Jessie  would  stop 
playing.^ 

"  Ah,"  said  Braunt,  with  a  deep  sigh  when  she  did 
stop.  "  That's  the  grandest  piece  of  music  ever  made. 
It  runs  in  my  head  all  day.  The  throb  of  the 
machinery  at  the  works  seems  to  be  tuned  to  it.  It's 
in  the  roar  of  the  streets.  Come,  my  lad,  I'll  go  with 
you,  because  you  want  me  to,  not  that  it  will  do  any 
good.  I'll  speak  if  you  like,  not  that  they'll  care 
much  for  what  I  say — not  hearken,  very  like.  But 
come  along,  my  lad." 


i? 


\ 


':\ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Braunt  and  Marsten  passed  from  the  dimness  of 
Rose  Garden  Court  into  the  brilliancy  of  Light  Street, 
which  on  certain  nights  in  the  week  was  like  one  pro- 
longed fair,  each  side  being  lined  with  heaped-up 
coster's  barrows,  radiant  with  flaring  gasoline.  In. 
cense  was  being  burned — evil-smelling  incense — to  th^ 
God  of  Cheapness.  Hordes  of  women,  down  at  the 
heel,  were  bargaining  with  equally  impecunious  ven- 
ders— meeting  and  chaffering  on  the  common  level  of 
poverty. 

Turning  into  a  side  street  and  then  into  a  nar. 
rower  lane,  the  two  men  came  to  a  huge  building 
where  the  Salvation  Army  held  its  services — a  build- 
ing let  temporarily  to  the  employees  of  Monkton  & 
Hope  for  the  discussion  of  their  grievances.  The 
place  was  crowded  to  the  doors,  and  the  latest  comers 
had  some  difificulty  in  making  their  way  along  one 
side  of  the  walls,  nearer  the  front  platform,  where 
they  at  last  found  room  half  way  between  the  doors 
and  the  speakers. 

Scimmins  was  in  the  chair,  looking  very  uneasy  and 
out  of  place,  not  knowing  exactly  what  was  expected 
of  him,  smiling  a  wan  deprecatory  smile  occasionally 
as  some  of  his  pals  in  the  crowd  made  audible  remarks 
about  his  elevation,  and  the  native  dignity  he  brought 
to  bear  on  his  office.  One  gave  it  as  his  opinion  (**  if 
you  awsked  him  ")  that  Scimmins  would  have  looked 
more  natural  with  a  pint  pot  in  his  right  hand,  instead 
of  the  mallet  with  which  he  was  supposed  to  keep 
order. 

On  a  row  of  chairs  at  the  back  of  the  platform  sat 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


71 


the  members  of  the  committee,  looking,  most  of  them, 
quite  as  uncomfortable  as  the  chairman.  Several 
reporters  were  writing  at  a  table  provided  for  them. 
Sometimes  one  whispered  a  question  to  the  chairman 
or  a  member  of  the  committee,  and  received  the  almost 
invariable  answer,  '*  Blest  if  I  know,  arsk  Gibbons." 

Gibbons  was  quite  palpably  the  man  of  the  hour. 
He  was  on  his  feet  by  virtue  of  his  position  as  chair- 
man of  the  committee  and  secretary  to  the  Union, 
and  was  just  finishing  the  reading  of  the  committee's 
report  as  Braunt  and  Marsten  found  standing-room  at 
the  side  of  the  hall. 

"■ — And  finally  your  committee  begs  leave  to  report 
that  Mr.  Sartwell,  having  rejected  all  overtures  from 
your  committee,  refusing  to  confer  with  it  either 
through  its  chairman,  or  as  a  body,  it  was  resolved 
that  this  report  be  drawn  up  and  presented  to  you  in 
order  that  definite  action  may  be  taken  upon  it." 

Gibbons,  when  he  had  finished  reading  the  docu- 
ment, placed  it  upon  the  reporters'  table  for  their 
closer  inspection.  He  had  drawn  up  the  report  him- 
self and  was  naturally  rather  proud  of  the  wording, 
and  he  hoped  to  see  it  printed  in  the  newspapers. 
He  turned  to  his  audience,  after  saluting  the  chairman. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  you  have  heard  the  report.  The 
committee  appointed  by  you,  empowered  by  you, 
acting  for  you,  vested  in  your  authority,  has  done  all 
in  its  power  to  bring  this  matter  to  an  amicable  con- 
clusion. It  has  left  no  stone  unturned,  shrunk  from 
no  honourable  means,  spared  no  trouble,  to  bring 
about  an  understanding  fair  alike  to  employer  and 
employee.  But,  gentlemen,  your  committee  has  been 
met  at  the  very  threshold  with  a  difficulty  which  it 
could  not  surmount  ;  a  difficulty  that  has  rendered  all 
its  efforts  abortive.  The  firm  of  Monkton  &  Hope 
refers  the  committee  to  Mr.  Sartwell,  the  manager,  and 
Mr.  Sartwell  absolutely  refuses  to  see  the  committee 
and  discuss  anything  with  it.  This  man,  who  was 
once  a  workman  himself,  now  arrogates " 


i 

:4 


1 


72 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Here  one  of  the  reporters  pulled  Gibbons's  coat-tail, 
and  a  whispered  colloquy  took  place.  When  it  was 
over,  Gibbons  continued  :  "  A  gentleman  of  the  press 
has  asked  me  a  question — and  a  very  proper  question  it 
is.  He  asks  if  we  threatened  Mr.  Sartwell  in  any  way 
with  a  strike,  as  has  been  rumoured.  Gentlemen,  no 
threats  of  any  kind  whatever  have  been  used."  (Cheers.) 
**  We  have  approached  Mr.  Sartwell  with  the  same 
deference  that  we  would  have  approached  a  member 
of  Her  Majesty's  Government  if  we  had  a  petition  to 
present.  The  sum  and  substance  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness is  that  Mr.  Sartwell  absolutely  refuses  to  treat 
with  his  own  men  when  they  have " 

"That  is  not  true,"  said  a  voice,  from  the  side  of  the 
hall. 

The  crowd  turned  their  heads  towards  the  sound, 
noticeably  gleeful  at  the  interruption.  It  promised 
liveliness  ahead.  There  was  a  murmur  of  pleasurable 
anticipation.  Gibbons  turned  sharply  towards  the 
point  from  which  the  voice  came. 

"  What  is  not  true?  "  he  demanded. 

"  It's  not  true  that  Mr.  Sartwell  refuses  to  see  his 
own  men," 

"  Are  you  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Are  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  rustle  of  intense  enjoyment  at  this  pal- 
pable hit  at  Gibbons.  The  glib  speaker  himself  was 
taken  aback  by  the  retort,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  I  thought,"  continued  the  secretary,  "  that  it 
might  have  been  some  one  sent  here  to  interrupt  this 
meeting.  This  may  still  be  the  case,  but  we  will  waive 
that  point.  We  will  not  follow  Mr.  Sartwell's  exam- 
ple, and  if  there  is  any  friend  of  his  present  we  shall  be 
pleased  to  hear  from  him  at  the  proper  time.  As  I 
was  about  to  say  when  I  was  int " 

**  I  answered  your  question  ;  answer  mine,"  cried 
the  voice. 

Gibbons  glanced  appealingly  at  the  Chair  for  protec- 
tion, and  Scimmins  rapped  feebly  with  his  gavel  on 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


73 


the 


the  table  in  front  of  him,  saying,  "Order,  order/*  but 
in  a  tone  that  he  apparently  hoped  nobody  would 
hear. 

**  What  is  your  question  ?  "  ask  d  Gibbons,  with  an 
angry  ring  in  his  voice. 

"Are  you  an  employee  of  Monkton  &  Hope?" 

"  I  am  secretary  of  the  Union  of  which  that  firm's 
men  are  a  part,  and  I  may  add,  the  strongest  Union 
in  London.  I  am  chairman  of  this  committee,  com- 
posed of  that  firm's  men.  I  did  not  seek  the  position, 
but  was  unanimously  elected  to  it ;  therefore  I  claim 
that  practically  I  am  an  employee  of  Monkton  & 
Hope,  and  that  no  man  here  has  a  better  right  to 
speak  for  those  employees — ^aye,  or  to  stand  up  for 
them  against  oppression — than  I  have.  And  I  will  tell 
the  man  who  interrupts  me — I'll  tell  him  to  his  face — • 
that  I  am  not  to  be  brow-beaten  from  the  path  of  duty, 
by  him,  or  by  Mr.  Sartwell  either,  as  long  as  I  retain 
the  confidence  of  the  men  who  put  me  here.  I  ac- 
knowledge no  other  masters.  If  you  want  to  address 
this  meeting,  come  up  here  on  the  platform  and  face  it 
like  a  man,  and  not  stand  barking  there  like  a  dog. 
Let's  have  a  look  at  you." 

There  was  wild  cheering  at  this.  The  fight  was  on, 
and  the  crowd  was  jubilant.  This  was  the  kind  of 
talk  they  liked  to  hear. 

Braunt  smote  young  Marsten  on  the  back  and 
pushed  him  forward. 

"Take  oop  the  challenge,  lad,"  he  cried.  "  Oop  wi' 
ye.  I'll  follow  ye,  and  give  them  some  facts  about 
the  unemployed.  We've  got  this  meeting  if  we  work 
it  right.     Oop  wi'  ye,  mate." 

Marsten  went  toward  the  platform,  the  crowd  mak- 
ing way  for  him.  Gibbons  stood  for  a  moment  appar- 
ently surprised  at  this  unexpected  opposition,  then 
walked  back  to  his  chair  at  the  head  of  the  commit- 
tee. The  good-natured  gathering  cheered  when  they 
saw  the  young  man  standing  before  them. 

"  Fellow-workingmen — "  he  began. 


:4 


•p 


Li 


-! 


74 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"Address  the  Chair,"  admonished  some  one  in  the 
middle  of  the  hall,  whereat  there  was  a  laugh.  Scim- 
mins  himself  indidgcd  in  a  sickly  smile.  The  speaker 
reddened  slightly,  and  in  confused  haste  said  : 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  fellow-workers " 

The  crowd  cheered  lustily,  and  it  was  some 
moments  before  Marsten  could  again  get  a  hearing. 
A  feeling  of  despair  came  over  him  as  he  stood  before 
them.  It  was  only  too  evident  that  they  all  looked 
upon  the  whole  proceeding  as  a  great  lark,  something 
in  the  way  of  a  music-hall  entertainment  without  the 
beer, — which  was  a  drawback  of  course  ;  but  also  with- 
out any  charge  for  admission, — which  was  an  advantage, 
for  it  left  so  much  more  cash  to  expend  in  stimulants  af- 
ter the  fun  was  over.  He  wondered,  as  he  looked  at  the 
chaffing  jocular  assemblage,  whether  he  was  taking  too 
s ,  lOus  a  view  of  the  si^^uation.  There  flashed  across 
his  mind  a  sentence  he  had  heard  in  a  lecture  on 
socialism.  "  It  is  not  the  capitalist  nor  the  govern- 
ment you  have  to  conquer,"  the  lecturer  had  said, 
"  but  the  workmen  themselves." 

When  the  disorder  had  subsided  so  that  his  voice 
could  be  heard,  Marsten  went  on  : 

*'  Mr.  Gibbons  asserted  that  the  manager  had  re- 
fused to  consult  with  his  employees,  and  I  claimed 
that  such  a  statement  was  not  true.  Mr.  Sartwell 
told  ne  himself  that  he  was  willing  to  receive  a  depu- 
tation from  the  men  of  the  works.     He  said " 

"What's  that?"  cried  Gibbons,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  taking  a  step  forward. 

**  Don't  ii.terrupt  the  speaker,"  shouted  Braunt,  from 
the  body  of  the  hall. 

"  He  interrupted  me,"  roared  Gibbons,  now  thor- 
oughly angry.  Turning  to  the  young  man  who  stood 
there  silently,  waiting  for  statement  and  retort  to 
cease,  the  secretary  demanded : 

"  When  did  Sartwell  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"  On  Tuesd'^v  night." 

**  On  Tuesday    light !  "  repeated  Gibbons,  coming  to 


IHE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


7$ 


his 


from 


ngto 


the  front  of  the  platform.  **0n  Tuesday  night!  and 
you  have  the  brazen  cheek  to  stand  here  and  admit 
it." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ? "  asked  Marsten,  with  per- 
ceptible self-control,  but  whitening  around  his  tight- 
ened lips. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  ?  I'll  tell  you  why.  Because 
you  sneaked  in  behind  the  backs  of  the  committee 
you  had  helped  to  appoint.     That's  why." 

"  I  had  no  hand  in  appointing  the  committee." 

"  Every  man  in  the  works  had  a  hand  in  appointing 
the  committee.  If  you  didn't  vote,  then  you  neg- 
lected your  duty.  If  you  voted  against  the  commit- 
tee, you  were  bound  by  the  result  just  as  the  commit- 
tee would  have  been  bound,  if  they  had  been  defeated. 
That's  trade  unionism — stand  together  or  fall  to- 
gether. You,  knowing  a  committee  had  been  ap- 
pointed to  deal  with  this  very  business,  must  go 
crawling  to  Sartwell,  and  undermine  the  work  of  your 
fellow-unionists." 

"  That's  a  lie ! "  hissed  Marsten,  through  his  set 
teeth,  in  a  low  but  intense  tone  of  voice  which  was 
heard  to  the  further  end  of  the  hall.  The  young  man 
strode  toward  his  antagonist,  his  right  hand  nervously 
clinching  and  unclinching.  It  was  an  electric  moment, 
— the  crowd  held  its  breath.  They  expected  the  next 
move  would  be  a  blow. 

Gibbons  stood  his  ground  without  flinching.  Not  a 
muscle  of  his  face  moved  except  his  ej  Jids,  which 
partially  closed  over  his  eyes,  leaving  a  slit  through 
which  a  steely  glance  shot  at  Marsten  ;  but  his  answer 
was  not  so  truculent  as  his  look. 

"  If  it's  a  lie,"  he  said  calmly,  to  the  evident  disap- 
pointment of  his  hearers,  "  then  the  lie  is  not  mine. 
I  was  merely  putting  your  own  statements  in  a  little 
terser  language  ;  that's  all." 

Braunt,  who  had  with  difficulty  kept  his  hot  temper 
in  hand  du/ing  this  colloquy  on  the  stage,  now  roared 
at  the  top  of  his  voice : 


I* 

I 

,* 
Ji 


:1 


»* 


76 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  Give  t'  lad  a  chance  to  speak  and  shut  your  silly 
mouth.  He's  called  you  a  liar  like  a  man  and  you 
daren't  take  him  oop  like  a  man.  Sit  down,  you 
fool ! " 

"  I  must  really  ask  the  protection  of  the  Chair," 
protested  the  secretary,  turning  to  Scimmins.  The 
latter,  feeling  that  something  was  expected  of  him, 
rose  rather  uncertainly  to  his  feet,  and  struck  the 
table  three  or  four  times  with  his  mallet. 

*'  Order,  order !  "  he  cried.  **  If  there  is  any  more 
disturbance  down  there,  the  man  will  be  put  out  of 
the  meeting. 

"  What !  "  shouted  Braunt.  *'  Put  me  out !  Egod ! 
I'll  give  'ee  th'  chance." 

The  big  man  made  his  way  toward  the  platform, 
brushing  aside  from  his  path  a  few  who,  in  the  inter- 
ests of  law  and  order,  endeavoured  to  oppose  him. 
The  majority  of  those  present,  however,  wer^  mani- 
festly of  opinion  that  the  progress  of  the  angiy  man 
should  not  be  barred,  so  they  cheered  his  intervention 
and  made  encouraging  remarks. 

Braunt  sprang  upon  the  platform,  advanced  to  the 
chair,   smote  his  clinched  fist  on  the  table,  and  cried  : 

"  Here  I  am,  Scimmins.  Now  put  me  out ;  d'ye 
hear  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  reply,  but  there  was  none.  Scim- 
mins, shrinking  from  him,  obviously  prepared  for  flight 
if  Braunt  attempted  to  storm  the  position.  The 
Yorkshireman  glared  about  him,  but  those  on  the 
platform  appeared  to  think  that  the  time  for  protest 
had  not  yet  arrived.  Meanwhile,  the  audience  was 
calling  loudly  for  a  speech. 

"  I  haven't  much  to  say,  mates,"  began  Braunt, 
calming  down  through  lack  of  opposition,  "and  I'm 
no  man  vt  the  gab.  I'm  a  worker,  and  all  I  want  is  a 
chance  to  earn  my  bread.  But  I'll  say  this:  I  saw  in 
t'  papers  not  so  long  ago  that  there's  twenty-seven 
thousand  men  of  our  trade  out  of  work  in  England  to- 
day.    Twenty-seven  thousand  men  anxious  for  a  job. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


77 


was 


Now  what  is  this  man  Gibbons  asking  you  to  do? 
He's  asking  you  to  chook  up  your  jobs  and  have  your 
places  taken  by  some  of  them  twenty-seven  thousand. 
Sartwell  has  only  to  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
papers,  and  he  can  fill  the  shops  five  times  over  in  two 
days.  It's  always  easier  to  chook  oop  a  job  than  to 
get  a  new  one  these  times.  I  know,  because  I've  tried 
it.  So  have  most  of  you.  Take  my  advice,  and  go 
no  further  with  this  nonsense.  If  Sartwell,  as  Mar- 
sten  says,  is  willing  to  talk  over  grievances,  then  I  say 
let  us  send  him  a  deputation  of  our  own  men,  with  no 
outsiders  among 'em.  What's  the  Union  done  for  us? 
Taken  our  money  every  week,  that's  all  I  can  see. 
And  now  they  have  got  so  much  of  it  they  want  to 
squander  it  fighting  a  strong  man  like  Sartwell." 

Marsten  had  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  platform. 
We  are  always  quicker  to  perceive  the  mistakes  of 
others  than  to  recognize  our  own,  and  he  did  not  like 
Braunt's  talk  against  the  Union.  He  felt  that  it 
would  be  unpopular,  besides  he  believed  in  the  Union 
if  it  were  properly  led.  His  fight  was  against  Gib- 
bons, not  against  the  organization. 

Gibbons  was  in  his  chair,  and  he  had  rapidly  taken 
the  measure  of  the  speaker.  He  saw  that  the  address 
was  having  its  effect,  and  that  the  crowd  was  slipping 
away  from  his  control.  It  was  a  risky  thing  to  do 
with  such  a  powerful  man,  but  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  Braunt  must  be  angered,  when  he  would  likt.y,  in 
his  violence,  lose  all  the  ground  he  had  gained.  So 
Gibbons  quietly,  with  his  eye,  gathered  up  his  trusty 
henchmen,  who  were  scattered  in  different  parts  of  the 
hall  to  give  an  appearance  of  unanimity  to  the  shout- 
t'ng  when  the  proper  time  came,  and  these  men  had 
now  gradually  edged  to  the  front  during  the  speaking. 
One  or  two  had  silently  mounted  the  platform  and 
held  a  whispered  conference  with  the  secretary,  after 
v'hich  they  and  some  others  took  thei**  places  behind 
the  seated  committee.  When  Sartwell  was  alluded  to, 
Gibbons  arose. 


It 


M' 


;1 


r 


i     I 


78  THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  allow " 

Braunt  turned  on  him  like  a  raging  lion. 

*' Don't  you  interrupt  me,"  he  cried,  rolling  up  his 
sleeves,  ''  or  I'll  bash  you  through  that  window." 

"Order,  order!  "  said  the  chairman,  faintly. 

"Yes,  an'  you  atop  o'  him  ! "  shouted  the  infuriated 
man.     "  I've  done  it  before." 

"  Respect  the  meeting,  if  you  have  no  regard  for 
the  Chair,"  said  Gibbons,  calmly. 

"  You  talk  to  us  as  if  we  were  a  parcel  of  fools," 
cried  a  man  in  front.  Braunt,  like  a  baited  bull,  not 
knowing  in  which  direction  to  rush,  turned  his  eyes, 
blazing  with  rage,  upon  the  last  speaker.  He  shook 
his  clenched  fist  and  bared  arm  at  the  audience. 

"  What  else  are  you  ?  "  he  roared,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  *'  A  parcel  o'  dommed  fools,  all  o'  ye.  Led  by 
the  nose  by  a  still  bigger  fool  than  any  o'  ye.  Yes ; 
a  set  o'  chattering  idiots,  that's  what  ye  are,  with  not 
enough  brains  among  the  lot  o'  ye  to  turn  a  grind- 
stone. I  know  ye,  a  beer-sodden  gang,  with  just 
enough  sense  to  see  that  your  pint  mug's  full." 

By  this  time  those  in  the  hall  were  in  a  state  of 
exasperation  bordering  on  frenzy,  A  small  door,  to 
the  right  of  the  stage,  connecting  with  an  alley,  had 
been  opened,  and  a  number  of  the  more  timid,  seeing  a 
storm  impending,  had  quietly  slipped  out.  The  meet- 
ing was  now  a  seething  mob,  crying  for  the  blood  of 
the  man  who  stood  there  defying  them  and  heaping 
contumely  upon  it. 

Gibbons,  his  lips  pale  but  firm,  took  a  step  forward. 

"  We  have  had  enough  of  this,"  he  said.  "  Get  off 
the  platform !  " 

Braunt  turned  as  if  on  a  pivot,  and  rushed  at  the 
secretary.  The  latter  stepped  nimbly  back,  and  one 
of  his  supporters,  with  a  running  jump  and  hop, 
planted  his  boot  squarely  in  Braunt's  stomach.  The 
impetus  was  so  great,  and  the  assault  so  sudden  and 
unexpprtcd,  that  Braunt,  powerful  as  he  was,  doubled 
up   lii.j  a  two-foot   rule,  and  fell  backward  from  the 


1 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


79 


platform  to  the  floor.  Instantly  a  dozen  men  pounced 
upon  him,  and  hustled  him,  in  spite  of  his  striking  out 
right  and  left,  through  the  open  door  into  the  alley. 
The  door  was  closed  and  bolted  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye — Braunt  outside  and  his  assailants  within.  It  was 
all  so  neatly  and  so  quickly  done,  that  the  police,  who 
had  been  on  the  alert  for  some  time,  only  reached  the 
spot  when  the  door  was  bolted.  The  crowd,  with  but 
the  vaguest  general  notion  of  what  had  happened, 
beyond  the  sudden  backward  collapse  of  Braunt,  raised 
a  wild  cheer  for  which  Gibbons  was  thankful.  He  did 
not  wish  them  to  know  that  Braunt  had  been  taken  in 
liand  by  the  police  outside,  and  he  had  been  very 
anxious,  if  an  arrest  were  inevitable,  that  it  should  not 
take  place  in  the  hall,  for  then  even  Braunt's  violent 
tirade  would  not  have  prevented  universal  sympathy 
turning  towards  him.  While  the  cheer  was  ringing  up 
to  the  roof,  Gibbons  had  heard  a  terrific  blow  delivered 
against  the  door,  a  blow  that  nearly  burst  in  the  bolt 
and  made  the  faces  of  those  standing  near  turn  pale. 
Another  crashing  hit  shattered  the  panel  and  gave 
a  glimpse  for  one  moment  of  bleeding  knuckles. 
Then  there  was  an  indication  of  a  short  sharp  strug- 
gle in  the  alley,  and  all  was  quiet  save  the  reverberating 
echo  of  the  cheer. 

Gibbons  strode  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  and 
held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  the  last  speaker 
made  some  remarks  which  ought  not  to  have  been 
made,  but  let  us  all  remember  that  hard  words  break 
no  bones.  However,  there  has  been  enough  talk  for 
one  night,  and  it  is  time  to  proceed  to  business. 
Gentlemen,  you  have  heard  the  report  of  the  com- 
mittee — what  is  your  pleasure?  " 

"  I  move,"  said  a  man,  risiiig  in  the  middle  of  the 
hall,  "  that  we  go  on  strike." 

"  I  second  that  motion,"  cried  several  voices. 

"  T>ut  the  motion/'  v/hispered  Gibbons  to  the  be- 
wildered chairmaji. 


A 


,1 


^ 


80 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Scimmins  rose  to  his  feet. 

''  You  have  all  heard  the  motion,"  he  said.  "  All  in 
favour  say  aye."  ^^ 

A  seemingly  universal  shout  of  "  Aye  arose.  1  he 
chairman  was  on  the  point  of  resuming  his  seat  when 
Gibbons,  in  a  quick  aside,  said : 

"  Contrary." 

"All  to  the  contrary,"  called  out  the  chairman, 
hovering  between  sitting  and  standing. 

There  was  no  dissent,  for  Marsten  had  left  to  see 
what  had  become  of  his  friend,  and  the  timorous  men 
had  stolen  away  when  they  detected  signs  of  dis^ 
turbance."  . 

"  Motion's  carried,"  said  Scimmins,  seating  himself 
with  every  indication  of  relief. 

♦'  Unanimously,"  added  Gibbons  loudly,  unable  to 
conceal  his  satisfaction  with  the  result. 


;^l«^^ 


CHAPTER  IX. 

There  are  streets  in  Chelsea  practically  abandoned 
to  studios.  Long  low  buildings  of  one  story,  with 
many  doors  in  front,  and  great  broadsides  of  windows 
at  the  back,  multipaned  windows  letting  in  from  the 
north  the  light  that  artists  love,  lined  these  thorough- 
fares which  Barney  in  his  jocular  off-hand  manner 
called  "  aurora  borealis  "  streets,  because,  as  he  always 
explained,  they  were  so  full  of  "  northern  lights." 

Such  studios  were  all  very  well  for  the  ordinary 
everyday  artist  who  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy 
and  places  of  that  sort ;  but  a  painter  with  a  soul  (and, 
incidentally,  a  reliable  bank  accoun^'^  '  sired  some- 
thing better  than  one  of  these  barn  .o  Barney  had 
taken  a  house  and  fitted  it  up  to  meet  his  requirements. 
Craigenputtoch  House,  as  Barney  called  it  in  tardy 
recognition  of  the  genius  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  was  a 
building  of  three  stories,  standing  back  from  the  street 
in  grounds  of  its  own.  T"  rooms  on  the  upper  floor 
were  allowed  to  remain  as  ;;hey  were,  and  gave  Barney 
bedrooms  for  himself  and  his  friends ;  his  hospitality 
being  unique  and  unlimited.  All  the  partitions  on 
the  first  floor  had  been  torn  away,  so  that  this  portion 
of  the  house  was  formed  into  one  vast  apartment, 
with  the  exception  of  a  space  for  a  noble  landing,  up 
to  which,  in  dignified  manner  befitting  a  temple  of  art, 
arose  a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps  that  replaced  the 
ordinary  wooden  stairway  which  had  contented  the 
former  occupants  of  the  house.  To  afford  the  support 
necessary  for  the  upper  floor,  now  that  the  partitions 
were  taken  away,  huge  square  beams  of  timber  had 
been  put  in,  and  these  gave  the  ceiling  of  the  roomy 


i 

4 


i 


:^lt 


) 
•  k 

i 

•J 

'A 
r  * 

,1 


II 


82 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


studio  that  barn  roof  appearance  so  necessary  to  the 
production  of  works  of  the  higher  art. 

Barney's  mother  objected  to  the  bare  coldness  of 
the  uncovered  stone  stairs.  Being  inside  the  house, 
she  said,  and  not  the  steps  that  led  to  the  front  door, 
they  should  have  a  carpet  on  them.  Barney  admitted 
that  under  ordinary  circumstances  this  was  so,  and 
willingly  offered  to  make  a  certain  concession  should 
the  occasion  arise.  If  Royalty  vi  ited  him,  he  would 
put  down  the  customary  red  carpet  which  the  feet  o^ 
Royalty  were  in  the  habit  of  treading.  In  fact,  he  ad- 
mitted to  his  mother  that  a  roll  of  red  carpet  had 
already  been  purchased,  and  was  at  that  moment  in 
the  closet  under  the  stairs,  to  be  ready  at  ^  moment's 
notice.  But  for  every-day  wear  the  steps  should  re- 
main uncovered,  because  the  stone  stairways  of  the 
Pitti  Palace  were  always  bare,  and  as  Barney  intended 
ultimatel};-  to  make  Craigenputtoch  House  quite  as 
celebrated  in  the  world  of  art  as  the  Florentine  gal- 
lery, he  would  follow  its  precedent  so  far  as  stairs  were 
concerned.     There  is  nothing  like  beginning  right.  " 

On  the  ground  floor  were  dining-room  and  kitchen, 
below  that  a  well-filled  cellar.  The  hall  was  toned  a 
rich  Pompeiian  red,  and  was  lit  by  two  windows  of 
brilliant  stained  glass  which  had  been  put  in  when  the 
building  was  transformed  from  a  residence  into  a 
studio.  "  Oh,  yes,"  Barney  would  say,  when  he  was 
complimented  on  these  windows.  "  They  are  all  very 
well  in  their  way,  but  not  original,  don't  you  know, 
not  original.  No,  they  are  simply  nicely  executed 
copies  of  a  portion  of  a  window  in  Cologne  Cathedral 
done  in  1508.  I  placed  them  there  temporarily,  be- 
cause I  have  been  so  busy  that  I  have  not  had  time  to 
design  anything  better  myself,  which  I  shall  do  later 
on,  don't  you  know." 

But  of  all  the  ornamental  appendages  to  this  studio, 
perhaps  the  most  striking  was  Barney's  "  man,"  attired 
in  a  livery  of  blue,  crimson,  and  silver,  which  was  ex- 
ceedingly effective.     Although  Barney  had  not  had 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


83 


I 


time  to  design  a  stained-glass  window  which  would 
excel  those  of  Cologne,  he  had  been  compelled  to 
sketch  out  this  livery,  for  it  was  not  a  thing  that  one 
could  copy  from  abroad,  and  the  Hope  family  had 
not  been  established  long  enough  to  have  a  recognized 
livery  of  its  own.  Nothing  gives  character  and  dig- 
nity to  a  place  so  much  as  a  "  man  "  sumptuously  fitted 
out  in  a  style  that  is  palpably  regardless  of  cost,  and 
if  it  may  be  plainly  seen  that  the  *'  man  "  performs  no 
needful  function  whatever,  then  is  the  effect  height- 
ened, for  few  human  beings  attain  the  apex  of  utter 
inutility.  The  great  hotels  of  this  country  recognize 
the  distinction  reflected  upon  them  by  the  possession 
of  a  creature  of  splendour  at  their  doors,  who  grandly 
wafts  the  incoming  guests  with  a  hand-wave  towards 
the  hall.  But  these  persons  of  embellishment  often 
demean  themselves  by  opening  the  doors  of  cabs  and 
performing  other  useful  acts,  thus  detracting  from 
their  proper  function,  which  was,  Barney  insisted,  to 
content  themselves  with  being  merely  beauLiiul. 

When  a  visitor  once  complained  that  the  man  at  the 
top  of  the  stair  had  refused  to  direct  him  into  the 
studio,  Barney  laid  his  right  hand  in  friendly  brother- 
liness  on  the  visitor's  shoulder,  and  said : 

"  He  knew,  dear  boy,  that  I  would  discharge  him 
instantly  if  he  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  answer  a 
question." 

"  Then  what  is  he  there  for  ?  "  asked  the  visitor,  with 
some  indignation.     **  I  don't  see  the  use  of  him." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  answered  Barney,  soothingly. 
"  If  you  did,  I  would  have  to  get  rid  of  him  and  en- 
gage another,  and,  I  can  assure  you,  that  perfectly 
useless  persons  six  feet  two  in  height  are  not  to  be 
picked  up  on  every  street  corner.  No,  dear  boy,  they 
are  not,  I  give  you  my  word.  People  are  so  unthink- 
ing that  they  zui/l  ask  foolish  questions.  I  intend  to 
discourage  this  habit  as  much  as  possible.  You  want 
to  know  what  he  is  there  for  ?  Now  if  I  had  placed  a 
marble  statue  at  the  top  of  the  stair,  you  would  not 


J 


4' 


;•! 


,  i 


84 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


!!|;' 


I*  ii'! 


I 


have  been  offended  if  it  did  not  answer  your  query, 
don't  you  know,  and  you  would  not  have  asked  what 
it  was  there  for,  don't  you  know.  There  are  so  many 
useful  things  in  this  world  that  something  untainted 
with  utilitarianism  ought  to  be  welcomed  by  every 
thinking  man,  and  if  this  deplorably  proficuous  coun- 
try is  ever  to  be  redeemed,  we  artists  must  lead  the 
way,  don't  you  see." 

The  grand  individual  at  the  head  of  the  stair  had 
his  uses,  nevertheless;  for  when  Haldiman  and  another, 
accepting  Barney's  effusively  cordial  invitations  to 
attend  one  of  his  "At  Homes,"  entered  the  hall  below, 
and  saw  this  magnificent  person  standing  like  a  re- 
splendent statue  before  and  above  them,  Haldiman 
gasped,  "  Great  Heavens  !  "  and  groped  his  way  out  on 
the  pavement  again,  followed  by  the  no  less  astounded 
other,  who  was  an  artist  also  struggling  along  in  the 
black  and  white  line.  The  two  exchanged  glances 
when  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  studio,  pausing  as 
they  did  so.  Their  amazement  was  almost  too  great 
for  words,  yet  Haldiman  remarked  solemnly : 

"  I  might  have  expected  something  of  that  sort. 
Imagine  us  dropping  in  there  in  these  clothes !  Lucky 
escape !  I  know  a  place  on  the  King's  Road  where 
there  are  fluids  to  drink.  Let  us  go  there  and  see  if  we 
can  recover  from  this  blow.  O  Barney,  Barney,  what 
deeds  are  done  in  thy  name !  " 

So  the  living  statue  silently  warned  off  Barney's 
two  Bohemian  friends,  who  are  all  right  in  Paris,  don't 
you  know,  but  not  at  all  desirable  when  a  man  settles 
down  to  serious  work  and  expects  nobility  at  his  re- 
ceptions. 

The  calm  dignity  of  Barney's  "  man  "  was  offset  in  a 
measure  by  the  energetic  activity  of  the  boy  in  but- 
tons who  threw  open  the  door  with  a  flourish.  "  But- 
tons" might  be  likened  to  a  torpedo  boat,  rting 
hither  and  thither  under  the  shadow  of  a  stately  iron- 
clad. While  the  left  hand  of  the  small  boy  opened 
the  door,  the  right  swept  up  to  his  cap  in  a  semi-mili- 


» 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


85 


t  in  a 
but- 
But- 
rting 
•  iron- 
)enecl 
i-mili- 


tary  salute  that  welcomed  the  coming  and  sped  the 
parting  guest. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  room  more  suita- 
ble for  an  artistic  function  like  Barney's  "At  Homes" 
than  Barney's  studio.  The  apartment  was  large,  and 
it  contained  many  nooks  and  crannies  that  the  Totten- 
ham Court  Road  furnisher  had  taken  excellent  advan- 
tage of.  There  were  neat  little  corners  for  two;  there 
were  secluded  alcoves  fitted  with  luxurious  seats ; 
there  were  most  alluring  divans  everywhere,  and  on 
the  floor  were  the  softest  of  Oriental  rugs.  Eastern 
lamps  shed  a  subdued  radiance  over  retired  spots  that 
otherwise  would  have  been  dark,  and  wherever  a  cur- 
tain could  hang,  a  curtain  was  hung.  Barney's  most 
important  works,  framed  in  gold  and  silver  or  the 
natural  wood,  were  draped  effectively,  and  to  prevent 
the  non-artistic  mind  from  making  a  fool  of  itself  by 
guessing  at  the  subject,  the  name  of  each  picture  stood 
out  in  black  letters  on  the  lovvei*  part -of  the  frame. 
There  were  '*  Battersea  Bridge  at  Midnight,"  "  Chel- 
sea in  a  Fog,"  "  Cheyne  Row  at  Three  A.  M.,"  and 
other  notable  works,  while  one  startling  picture  of  the 
Thames  in  crimson  and  yellow  showed  Barney's  power 
to  accomplish  a  feat,  which,  if  we  may  trust  a  well- 
known  saying,  has  been  tried  by  many  eminent  men, 
but  has  been  rendered  unsuccessful  by  the  incombusti- 
ble nature  of  that  celebrated  river. 

Barney's  'afternoon"  was  at  its  height,  when  the 
bell  was  rung  by  a  young  man  who  had  not  received 
a  card ;  but  ''  Buttons  "  did  not  know  that,  and  he 
swung  open  the  door  with  a  florid  flourish  as  if  the 
visitor  had  been  a  duke.  The  incomer  was  as  much 
taken  aback  by  the  triumph  of  nature  and  art  at 
the  head  of  the  stair  as  Haldiman  had  been,  but 
although  he  paused  for  a  moment  in  wonder,  he  did 
not  retreat.  He  had  a  vague  notion  for  an  instant 
that  it  might  be  Barney  himself,  but  reflection  routed 
that  idea.  He  was  entering  a  world  unfamiliar  to 
him,  but  his  common   sense  whispered   that   the  in- 


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THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


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habitants  of  this  world  did  not  dress  in  such  a  fash- 
ion. 

"  Is  Mr.  Barnard  Hope  at  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yessir,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a  bow  and  a  wave 
of  his  hand.     "  This  is  his  day.     What  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Marsten." 

"  Mr.  Marsten,"  shouted  the  boy  up  the  stair. 

The  decorated  sphinx  at  the  top  was  uninfluenced  by 
the  announcement,  but  a  less  resplendent  menial  ap- 
peared, who  held  back  the  heavy  curtains  as  Marsten 
mounted  the  stair,  and,  when  he  entered,  his  name  was 
flung  ahead  of  him  upon  the  murmur  of  conversation 
within.  The  sight  that  met  Marsten's  eye  as  he  en- 
tered the  studio  was  rather  disconcerting  to  a  diffident 
man,  but  he  was  relieved  to  notice,  after  a  moment's 
breathless  pause  beyond  the  threshold,  that  nobody 
paid  the  slightest  attention  to  him. 

The  large  room  seemed  bewilderingly  full  of  people, 
and  a  row  of  men  were  standing  wi'h  their  backs 
against  the  wall,  as  if  they  were  part  of  the  mural 
decoration.  Many  of  them  held  tea-cups  in  their 
hands,  and  all  of  them  looked  more  or  less  bored. 
The  divans  and  chairs  had  been  arranged  in  rows,  as 
if  for  the  viewing  of  some  spectacle,  and  every  seat 
was  taken,  most  of  the  occupants  being  ladies.  Two 
men-servants  were  handing  around  tea  and  cake,  while 
Barney  himself  flitted  hither  end  thither  like  a  gigantic 
butterfly  in  a  rose  garden,  scattering  geniality  and 
good-humour  wherever  he  went.  The  steady  hum  of 
conversation  was  brightened  constantly  by  silvery 
laughter.  It  was  evident  that  the  gathering,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  that  part  of  it  standing  pensively 
around  the  walls,  was  enjoying  itself. 

As  the  throng  slowly  resolved  into  units  before  the 
gaze  of  young  Marsten,  his  heart  suddenly  stopped, 
and  then  went  on  again  at  increased  speed,  as  he 
recognized  Edna  Sartwcll  sitting  on  one  of  the  front 
chairs,  smiling  at  some  humorous  remark  which  Barney, 
leaning   over   her,   was   making.     A  moment   before, 


u 


^^ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


»7 


he 


kre, 


Marsten  had  been  conquering  his  impulse  to  retreat, 
by  telling  himself  that  all  these  idle  persons  were  noth- 
ing to  him ;  but  now,  when  he  had  recognized  one 
person  who  was  everything  to  him,  he  had  to  quell  his 
rising  panic  with  a  new  formula.  Although  out  of  his 
depth  and  ill  at  ease,  he  knew  that  he  would  not  quit 
the  field  in  a  fright  before  the  task  ne  had  set  himself 
was  even  begun.  At  the  back  of  his  nature  there  was 
a  certain  bull-dog  obstinacy,  the  limitations  of  which 
had  never  yet  been  tested,  although  this  unexpected 
meeting  with  a  number  of  his  fellow-creatures  in  an 
evidently  higher  social  station  than  his  own  put  a  se- 
vere strain  upon  his  moral  courage.  In  vain  he  told 
himself  that  he  was  as  good  as  any  of  them  ;  for  in 
his  heart  he  did  not  believe  that  he  was,  so  the  assur- 
ance was  ot  little  value  to  him.  Finally,  he  took  his 
courage  in  his  hand,  and  spoke  to  the  servant  who  had 
held  aside  the  curtains  for  him. 

"  Would  you  tell  Mr.  Hope  that  I  wish  to  speak 
with  him  for  a  moment?  " 

Barney  approached  the  new-comer  with  smiling  face 
and  extended  hand. 

"  Oh,  how-de-do,  how-de-do  ?  I  am  so  glad  you 
found  time  to  come  to  my  little  affair.  You  are  just 
in  time — just  in  time,  don't  you  know." 

Barney's  artistic  eye  rapidly  took  in  the  appearance 
of  his  guest,  and  all  at  once  he  realized  that  his  clothes 
had  not  quite  the  air  of  Bond  Street  about  them,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  they  were  flagrantly  the  best  suit 
his  visitor  had.     The  smile  faded  from  the  artist's  face. 

"  Oh,  pardon  me  !  "  he  added.     "  I  thought  I  recog- 
nized you,  but  I  don't  think    I've  had   the   pleasure 
f»» 


"  No.  We  are  not  acquainted,  Mr.  Hope.  I  am  one 
of  the  workmen  in  your  father's  factory." 

"  Really.  You  have  some  message  for  me,  per- 
haps? " 

"  I  came  of  my  own  motion.  I  wished  very  partic- 
ularly to  speak  with  you  on  business." 


I'll 


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I 


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88 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1  i 


"  Oh,  but  really,  my  good  fellow,  don't  you  know ! 
This  is  my  *  At  Home  *  day.  I  never  talk  business  on 
these  days,  never.  If  you  want  to  buy  any  of  my 
pictures,  or  anything,  don't  you  know,  you  must  come 
another  day." 

"  I  did  not  come  about  pictures,  but  about  some- 
thing vastly  different  and  more  serious." 

"  My  good  fellow — you'll  excuse  my  interrupting 
you,  won't  you  ?  There  is  no  serious  business  except 
art,  and  to-day  I  don't  even  talk  art." 

"  Human  lives,"  said  Marsten,  hotly,  "  are  more 
serious  than  art," 

"  Please  don't  raise  your  voice.  You  are  certainly 
wrong  about  things,  but  I  haven't  time  to  correct  you 
to-day,  don't  you  know.  All  one  needs  to  say  about 
your  last  remark  is  that  human  lives  are  ephemeral, 
while  art  is  everlasting  Therefore  is  art  the  more 
important  of  the  two.  But  we'll  let  that  pass.  Can't 
you  come  and  talk  another  day?  I'm  sure  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  see  you  at  any  time." 

"  Couldn't  you  give  me  five  minutes  out  on  the  land- 
ing?"_   _ 

"  It  Is  impossible.  I  cannot  leave  my  guests.  You 
see,  we  have  the  dancing  Earl  on  in  a  few  moments. 
His  Grace  is  just  now  arranging  his  skirts.  I  really 
must  go,  don't  you  know." 

"  Then  I  will  stay  until  the  Earl  has  done  his  danc- 
ing, it  that  is  what  he  is  here  for." 

"  Do,  my  dear  fellow,  do.  A  most  excellent  idea. 
I  am  sure  you  will  like  it,  for  though  I  have  not  seen 
the  dance  myself,  I  understand  it  is  quite  unique. 
Have  a  cup  of  tea.  I  would  have  sent  you  a  card,  if 
I  had  thought  that  any  of  my  father's  workmen  were 
interested  in  the  latest  movements  of  art ;  but  never 
mind  the  lack  of  invitation.  If  you  care  to  stay  with- 
out it,  I  shall  be  delighted.  It  is  really  very  good  of 
you  to  drop  in,  in  this  unexpected  way  ;  it  is  the  kind 
of  thing  I  like,  so  Bohemian,  don't  you  know.  You'll 
excuse  me  now,  I'm  sure,"  and  Barney  tripped  away 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


«9 


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to  see  that  all  arrangements  for  the  appearance  of  the 
Earl  were  complete. 

The  model-stand  had  been  pushed  to  one  end  of  the 
room  fronting  the  audience ;  heavy  curtains  had  been 
drawn  across  the  big  north  window,  leaving  the  place 
in  semi-darkness ;  there  was  the  hissing  and  sputter- 
ing of  a  lime-light  in  the  gallery,  causing  inquisitive 
people  to  turn  their  heads  and  see  what  it  was, 

Marsten  stood  against  the  wall  beside  another  man, 
who  said  to  him  in  a  weary  tone  : 

"Who  is  this  man,  Barnard  Hope?** 

*'  He  is  an  artist,*'  answered  Marsten,  astonished  that 
one  guest  should  question  a  stranger  regarding  their 
mutual  host. 

**  Evidently,**  replied  the  other  **  But  who  are  his 
people,  or  has  he  any?  * 

"  His  father  is  one  of  the  richest  manufacturers  in 
London." 

"  Egad,  I  was  sure  of  it.  I  knew  there  was  a  shop 
somewhere  in  the  background,  the  fellow  is  so  beastly 
civil. 

Conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  figure  leap- 
ing on  the  model-stand,  while  at  the  same  instant  a 
blinding  white  light  was  thrown  from  the  gallery  upon 
it.  There  was  a  ripple  of  applause  and  the  Earl,  a 
beardless  youth  of  perhaps  twenty,  bowed.  He  looked 
like  a  girl  in  his  clinging  fluted  skirts.  He  was  a  scion 
of  an  ancient  noble  family,  founded  by  an  affectionate 
dancer  of  the  opposite  sex  in  the  reign  of  the  second 
Charles,  and  it  was  quite  in  the  regular  order  of  things 
that  there  should  be  a  recrudescence  of  terpsichorean 
ability  in  the  latest  member  of  the  house. 

The  white  light  changed  to  red  and  the  skirt  dance 
began.  As  it  went  on  it  was  received  with  tumultu- 
ous applause,  for  a  London  audience  is  always  easy  to 
please,  especially  when  there  is  no  charge  for  admission 
at  the  doors.  Still  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
sprightly  little  Earl  deserved  the  warmth  of  his  recep- 
tion, for  his  exhibition  was  a  model  of  grace  and  agil- 


.:i 
I 

I 


"  J 


90 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i,i> 


ia'.-.J  ,, 


ity,  while  his  manipulation  of  the  voluminous  skirts 
left  little  to  be  desired.  The  variegated  colours  thrown 
on  the  fluttering  whirling  drapery  gave  a  weird  un- 
earthly effect  to  the  rapid  movements  of  his  Grace,  and 
the  grand  finale,  where  a  crimson  light  was  flung  upon 
the  flimsy  silk  waving  high  above  the  dancer's  head, 
gave  the  agile  young  nobleman  the  appearance  of  one 
of  the  early  martyrs  wrapped  in  flames. 

The  curtains  were  drawn  back,  the  entranced  assem- 
blage rose  to  its  feet,  and,  gathering  about  the  host, 
congratulated  him  upon  the  success  of  his  afternoon. 
Barney  received  these  felicitations  with  exuberant 
gratification,  and  the  young  Earl,  finally  emerging  from 
behind  the  scenes,  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  but 
a  trifle  breathless,  accepted  modestly  his  well-earned 
share  of  the  compliments,  for,  let  cynics  say  what  they 
will,  true  merit  is  always  sure  of  appreciation  in  the 
great  city. 

Edna  Sartwell  lingered  for  a  moment  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  throng  that  pressed  around  Barney  and 
the  little  Earl,  then  leisurely  made  her  way  towards 
the  door,  waiting  for  her  step-mother,  who  lingered  to 
thank  her  host.  The  men  who  had  stood  along  the 
wall  were  already  in  the  street,  and  the  other  visitors 
had  nearly  all  departed. 

Marsten  stood  alone  where  he  was  when  the  enter- 
tainment was  going  on,  gazing  with  beating  heart  at 
the  girl  he  loved.  She  came  slowly  towards  him,  her 
head  averted,  watching  her  step-mother  standing  in 
the  fast  thinning  group  about  Barney.  There  was  a 
certain  unconsciousness  about  her  movements,  as  if 
the  young  man  had  hypnotized  her,  and  was  drawing 
her  to  him  by  mere  force  of  will.  At  last  her  skirts 
touched  him  and  his  nerves  tingled  to  his  finger  ends. 
Almost  involuntarily,  he  murmured : 

"  Miss  Sartwell." 

The  girl  turned  her  head  quickly,  and  for  a  moment 
met  his  gaze  without  recognizing  him. 

"  My  name  is  Marsten,"  he  said  huskily,  seeing  sh^ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


91 


VlCI 


did  not  know  him.  "  I  met  you  the  other  evening  at 
your  father's  office,  when  he  and  I  were  talking  of  the 
strike." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied ;  *'  at  first  I  did  not  remember 

you.     I — I  did  not  expect  to "     She  parked  and 

seemed  confused,  looking  away  from  him. 

"  To  find  me  here,"  said  the  young  man,  completing 
the  sentence  for  her,  and  gathering  courage  as  the  de- 
lightful fact  that  he  was  actually  talking  to  her  im- 
pressed its  almost  unbelievable  reality  upon  him.  **  I 
did  not  know  there  was  anything  like  this  going  on.  I 
came  to  consult  with  Mr.  Hope  on  the  same  sub- 
ject  "     He  flushed  as  the  memory  of  one  subject 

arose  in  his  mind,  and  he  felt  his  newly  acquired  courage 
beginning  to  ebb  again.  He  pulled  himself  together 
and  ended  lamely,  " — about  the  strike,  you  know." 

"Oh,"  said  Edna,  instantly  interested.  "Is  there 
anything  new  about  the  strike?  " 

**Yes;  there  was  a  meeting  last  night,  and  it  was 
unanimously  resolved  to  quit  work." 

The  colour  left  the  girl's  cheeks. 

"  And  are  the  men  out  ?  Is  that  why  you  are  here 
to-day  ?  " 

*'  No ;  they  do  not  go  out  until  Saturday.  I  did 
what  I  could  to  prevent  it,  but  without  success.  I  ap- 
plied to  your  father  for  this  afternoon  off,  and  he  gave 
it  to  me  without  asking  any  questions.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  in  the  few  intervening  days  before  the  men 
go  out,  something  might  be  done,  when  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  meeting  had  died  down.  That's  why  I  came, 
but  I'm  afraid  there  is  not  much  to  look  for  here." 

"  Does  father  know  ?  " 

"  About  the  strike  ?     Oh,  yes." 

The  girl's  winsome  face  clouded  with  apprehension. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  am  sure  it  is 
not  father's  fault,  for  he  is  kind  to  every  one.  Even 
if  he  is  sometimes  severe" — she  cast  a  shy  upw-ird 
glance  at  the  young  man  that  made  his  heart  beat 
faster — "  he  is  always  just," 


92 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


f       ! 

i>: '   ^ 


"  Yes,  I  know  that  is  true.  He  will  beat  the  men, 
and  that  is  the  reason  1  want  moderate  counsels  to 
prevail.  The  workingman  is  always  the  under  dog. 
Most  of  his  mouthing  friends  are  fools,  and  he  himself 
is  the  greatest  fool  of  all." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  are  a  little  hard  on  the  work- 
ingman ?  Were  you  here  in  time  to  see  the  dancing 
Earl  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  frank  smile,  and  Marsten 
smiled  in  company  with  her — it  brightened  his  face 
wonderfully,  and  established  an  evanescent  bond  of 
comradeship  between  them. 

"  I  had  forgotten  the  Earl,"  he  said. 

**  I  must  go  now.  I  see  my  step-mother  looking  for 
me.  I  hope  you  will  be  successful  in  averting  trouble 
at  the  works.  " 

She  extended  her  hand  to  him  and  he  took  it 
tenderly,  fearing  he  might  grasp  it  too  closely  and 
betray  himself. 

Mrs.  Sartwell  and  her  step-daughter  were  the  last 
to  go. 

Barney  threw  himself  on  a  divan  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  Well,  my  young  friend,  here  we  are  alone  at  last. 
Help  yourself  to  the  cigarettes  and  allow  me  to  offer 
you  something  stronger  than  the  tea  with  which  we 
regale  the  ladies.  We  have  several  shots  in  the 
locker,  so  just  name  your  particular  favourite  in  the 
way  of  stimulant  while  I  order  a  B  and  S  for  myself. 
You  might  not  believe  it,  but  one  of  these  afternoons 
takes  it  out  of  a  fellow  more  than  a  day's  work  at  the 
factory.  Not  that  I  ever  indulged  in  factory  work 
myself,  but  T  think  you  said  it  was  in  your  line." 

"Yes,"  said  Marsten,  after  declining  the  offerings  of 
his  host.  "  It  is  about  the  factory  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you.  The  men  resolved  last  night  to  go  out  on 
strike." 

"  Foolish  beggars." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  Their  action  is  worse  than 
foolish — that  is  why  I  carne  to  see  if  you  would  inter 


It 


bi: 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


93 


vene  in  any  way  so  that  a  better  state  of  feeling  might 
be  brought  about." 

"  Well,  now — let's  see,  I  believe  I  have  forgotten 
your  name,  or  did  you  tell  me?  Ah,  Marsten — thanks 
— so  many  things  on  my  mind,  don't  you  know.  You 
see,  Mr.  Marsten,  it's  really  no  business  of  mine,  al- 
though I  must  admit  that  your  offer  of  the  position  of 
arbitrator  flatters  me.  This  makes  twice  I  have  been 
asked  within  a  few  days,  so  I  think  I  must  really  be  a 
born  diplomat,  don't  you  know.  But  you  see,  there's 
nothing  I  enjoy  so  much  as  minding  my  own  business, 
and  this  strike  is  no  affair  of  mine." 

**  I  think  it  is.  All  the  luxury  you  have  here  is 
surely  earned  by  the  men  I  am  now  speaking  for." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  not  in  the  least  flattering 
now  ;  you  are  not,  I  assure  you.  You  are  saying  in 
other  words  that  my  pictures  do  not  sell." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  hinting  anything  of  the  kind. 
I  have  no  doubt  you  can  sell  anything  you  paint." 

"  Ah,  you  are  commending  the  artistic  discernment 
of  the  British  Public  which — at  present — is  an  honour 
the  B.  P.  does  not  deserve.  It  will  come  round  ulti- 
mately— the  great  B.  P.  always  does — but  not  yet,  my 
boy,  not  yet.  Give  it  time,  and  it  will  pour  cash  in 
your  lap.  I  regret  that  the  moment — how  shall  I  put 
it  ? — well,  up  to  date,  has  not  arrived.  The  workmen 
whom  you  honour  by  associating  with,  at  present  sup- 
ply— as  with  perhaps  unnecessary  bluntness  you  state 
it — the  financial  deficiency.  But  the  public  will  pay 
for  it  all  in  the  end — every  penny  of  it,  my  boy.  You 
see  these  pictures  around  the  walls?  Very  well ;  I 
hold  them  at  two  thousand  pounds  each.  I  find  lit- 
tle difficulty  in  so  holding  them,  for  no  section  of 
the  great  British  Public  has,  up  to  the  prt  nt  time, 
evinced  any  dogged  desire  to  wrench  them  trom  me 
in  exchange  for  so  much  gold.  What  is  the  conse- 
quence ?  I  shall  increase  the  price  five  hundred 
pounds  every  year,  and  the  longer  they  hold  off,  the 
bigger  sum  they  will  have  to  pay,  and  serve  them  jolly 


•i. 


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94 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


|f»ii 


well  right,  say  I.  Ten  pictures  twenty  thousand 
pounds — this  [year.  Next  year  twenty-five  thousand 
pounds,  and  so  on.  With  property  on  my  hands  in- 
creasing at  that  rate,  I  should  be  an  idiot  to  urge 
people  to  buy.  Ground  rents  in  Belgravia  are  not  in 
it  with  my  pictures  as  investments.  So  you  see,  Mars- 
ten,  when  my  day  comes,  the  factory  will  be  a  mere 
triviality  as  an  income  producer  compared  with  my 
brush,  don't  you  know." 

"  But  in  the  meantime?  " 

"  In  the  meantime,  I  am  getting  along  very  nicely, 
thank  you.  The  strike  will  not  affect  me  in  the  least. 
The  men  may  have  to  diminish  the  amount  of  shag  or 
whatever  awful  mixture  they  smoke,  but^I  shall  not 
consume  one  cigarette  the  less.  I  have  done  nothing 
to  bring  on  this  struggle.  If  the  men  want  to  fight, 
then,  by  jingo  !  let  them,  say  I." 

"  The  fight  is  not  yet  actually  on  and  won't  be  until 
Saturday.  Now  is  the  time  for  a  cool-headed  man  to 
interfere  and  bring  about  an  amicable  understanding. 
Won't  you  at  least  make  the  attempt,  Mr.  Hope?" 

"  My  dear  Marsten,  the  way  of  the  self-appointed  ar- 
bitrator is  hard.  I  was  reading  in  this  morning's  paper 
about  your  charming  meeting,  last  night,  and  I  noticed 
that  one  man  who  interfered  was  kicked  off  the  platform 
and  thrown  out  into  a  side  street.  That  is  the  work- 
ingman's  idea  of  how  an  intellectual  discussion  should 
be  terminated.  I  love  the  workingman  myself,  but  I 
sometimes  wish  he  would  not  argue  with  his  hob-nailed 
boot.  By  the  way,  did  you  see  this  interesting  epi- 
sode ?    You  were  there,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Braunt,  who  was  kicked  out,  is  one  of  the 
best  workmen  in  the  factory,  but  very  hot-tempered. 
He  lost  control  of  himself  last  night,  under  strong  pro- 
vocation, and  when  he  was  outside  tried  to  batter  in 
the  door.  The  police  interfered,  and  he  knocked 
down  three  of  tiiem.  This  was  disastrous,  for  he  was 
fined  five  pounds  this  morning,  and  I  have  been  trying 
to  raise  the  money  so  that  he  need  not  go  to  prison  ; 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


9S 


but  we  are  in  the  minority — he  exasperated  our  fellow- 
workmen — and  I  am  not  getting  on  well  with  the  sub- 
scription list." 

Barney  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Knocked  down  three,  did  he?  Good  man.  That's 
something  like.  It's  a  most  deplorable  trait  in  my 
character  that  I  somehow  enjoy  an  assault  on  the 
police,  and  yet  I  recognize  the  general  usefulness  of 
the  force.  Five  pounds  did  you  say  ?  Then  there 
will  be  the  costs;  I  don't  understand  much  about 
these  things,  but  I  believe  there  are  usually  costs,  on 
the  principle  of  adding  insult  to  injury,  I  suppose. 
Will  a  ten-pound  note  see  him  through  ?  Good. 
Here  it  is.  Three-pound-odd  a  policeman  is  not  ex- 
pensive when  you  think  how  much  some  of  the  luxu- 
ries here  below  cost,  don't  you  know.  No  thanks, 
Marsten,  I  beg  of  you  ;  it's  a  pleasure,  I  assure  you." 

As  Marsten  took  the  money  a  servant  came  in  and 
said  in  a  low  voice:  "  Simpson  wants  to  know  if  he 
may  go,  sir." 

"  Bless  me,  yes.  I  thought  he  had  gone  long  ago. 
Simpson  is  my  ornamental  six-footer  at  the  head  of 
the  stair ;  perhaps  you  noticed  him  as  you  came  in. 
Poor  fellow,  he's  not  allowed  to  do  anything  but  stand 
there  and  look  pretty,  so  I  suppose  it  gets  wearisome. 
Imagine  such  boy-stood-on-the-burning-deck  devotion 
at  this  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  !  I  had  forgot- 
ten him,  absorbed  in  your  interesting  conversation. 
Well,  Marsten,  I'm  sorry  I  can't  arbitrate,  but  drop  in 
again,  and  let  me  know  how  things  go  on.  Good 
afternoon!" 


■i         ;. 


CHAPTER  X. 


On  Saturday  the  men  took  their  well-e  ned  pay, 
one  by  one,  and  went  out  of  the  gates  quit  ly,  if  sul- 
lenly. During  the  days  that  had  intervened  between 
the  meeting  and  the  strike,  neither  side  had  made 
advances  to  the  other.  If  Sartwell  had  prepared  for 
the  struggle,  these  preparations  had  been  accomplished 
so  secretly  that  Gibbons  failed  to  learn  of  them. 
The  secretary  of  the  Union  issued  a  manifesto  to  the 
press,  setting  forth  the  position  of  the  men  in  temper- 
ate phrase  that  had  the  effect  of  bringing  public  sym- 
pathy largely  to  the  side  of  the  workers.  It  was  an 
admirable  document,  and  most  of  the  papers  pub- 
lished it,  some  of  them  editorially  regretting  the  fact 
that  in  this  enlightened  country  and  this  industrial 
age,  some  hundreds  of  men,  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the 
land,  willing  to  work,  were  forced  to  go  into  the 
streets  in  protest  against  a  tyranny  that  refused  even 
to  discuss  their  alleged  wrongs.  The  newspapers 
pointed  out  that  whether  their  grievances  were  just  or 
not  was  beside  the  question  ;  as  the  point  was  that 
the  manager  had  refused  to  see  a  deputation,  and  this 
high-handed  conduct  the  papers  expressed  themselves 
as  forced  to  deplore. 

Both  members  of  the  firm  thought  this  manifesto 
should  be  answered.  The  manager  did  not  agree  with 
them,  so  it  was  not  answered. 

Pickets  were  placed  before  the  gates,  and  a  few 
extra  policemen  appeared,  as  if  by  accident,  in  the 
neighbourhood  ;  but  there  was  nothing  for  either 
policemen  or  pickets  to  do.  On  Monday,  some  of  the 
men  lounging  around  the  place  looked  up  at  the  tall 


H( 

gO( 

th( 

cor 

th( 

th( 

reaJ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


9; 


the 
:ven 
pers 
or 

hat 
this 

ves 


chimneys,  and  saw  them,  for  the  first  time  during  their 
remembrance,  smokeless.  They  had  never  noticed 
the  smoke  before,  but  now  its  absence  created  an  un- 
expected void  in  the  murky  outlook.  It  was  as  if  the 
finger  of  death  had  touched  those  gaunt  lofty  stacks, 
and  the  unusual  silence  of  the  place  the  men  had 
always  known  to  be  so  busy  seemed  to  give  the  situa- 
tion a  lonely  feeling  of  solemnity  they  had  not  looked 
for. 

On  Tuesday  some  d/ay-loads  of  new  machinery 
arrived  at  the  works,  and  these  the  pickets  attempted 
to  stop,  but  without  success.  Gibbons  was  consulted, 
but  he  took  a  sensible  and  liberal  view  of  the  matter. 

"  Let  them  put  in  all  the  new  machinery  they  wish. 
That  will  mean  employment  for  more  men  when  we 
go  back.  We  will  not  interfere  with  Sartwell  until  he 
tries  to  fill  the  works  with  other  employees." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  week  the  shops  echoed 
with  the  clang  of  iron  on  iron,  but  no  smoke  came  out 
of  the  tall  chimneys. 

**  Call  this  a  fight  ?  "  said  one  of  the  men,  over  his 
mug  of  beer.     "  I  call  it  a  bean-feast." 

On  Saturday,  strike  pay  was  given  out  at  headquar- 
ters, each  man  getting  his  usual  wage,  for  che  Union 
was  rich.  It  was  indeed  a  bean-feast — all  pay  and  no 
work. 

The  first  week  had  enabled  Sartweil  to  make  repairs 
and  to  add  machinery  that  had  long  been  needed ; 
but  it  had  another  eftect  which  he  considered  more 
important  still.  It  allowed  Mr.  Monkton  and  Mr. 
Hope  to  recover  their  second  wind,  as  it  were.  These 
good  but  timorous  men  had  been  panic-stricken  by 
the  going  out  of  their  employees,  and  by  the  adverse 
comments  of  the  press.  As  nothing  happened  during 
the  week  they  gradually  regained  what  they  called 
their  courage,  and,  although  they  perhaps  did  not 
realize  it,  they  were  more  and  more  committed  to  the 
fight  when  it  did  come  on.  They  could  hardly  with 
decency,  after  keeping  silence  for  a  week  during  which 


rill 


|.;l 


98 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


M 


there  was  peace,  give  way  if  afterwards  there  should 
be  violence. 

The  vigilance  of  the  pickets  perhaps  relaxed  a 
little  as  time  went  on  and  there  was  nothing  to  do. 
But  one  morning  they  had  a  rude  awakening.  When 
they  arrived  at  the  gates  they  saw  smoke  once  more 
pouring  from  the  chimneys;  there  was  a  hum  of 
machinery ;  the  works  were  in  full  blast ;  and  the 
former  workers  were  outside  the  gates. 

The  news  spread  quickly,  and  the  men  gathered 
around  the  gates  from  all  quarters.  Gibbons  was 
early  on  the  ground,  like  an  energetic  general,  ready 
to  lead  his  men  to  the  fray.  He  saw  that  the  fight 
was  now  on,  and  he  counselled  moderation  when  he 
spoke  to  the  excited  men.  It  was  all  right,  he  an- 
swered them  ;  he  had  expected  this,  and  was  prepared 
for  it. 

The  gates  were  closed,  and  when  Gibbons  asked 
admittance  to  speak  with  the  manager  his  request 
v/as  curtly  refused.  This  refusal  did  not  tend  to 
allay  the  excitement,  nor  to  improve  the  temper  of 
the  men.  The  police  kept  the  thror.g  on  the  move  as 
much  as  possible,  but  the  task  became  more  and  more 
difficult  as  the  crowd  increased. 

At  noon  a  wagon,  evidently  loaded  with  provisions, 
drove  do\vn  the  street,  and  when  the  mob  learned 
that  its  destination  was  the  works,  a  cry  went  up  that 
the  vehicle  should  be  upset. 

Again   the   pacifying   influence   of   Gibbons    made 
itself  felt,  and  the  wagon,  amidst  the  jeers  of  the  by- 
standers,  drove    in,   while    the   gates   were   speedilj 
closed  after  it. 

Gibbons  retired  with  his  captains  tc  headquarters, 
where  a  consultation  was  held.  There  was  a  chance 
that  Sartwell,  during  the  first  week,  when  it  was  sup- 
posed he  was  putting  in  new  machinery,  had  also  been 
building  dormitories  for  his  new  men,  and  that  he  was 
going  to  keep  them  inside  the  gates,  free  from  the 
influence  of  the  Union. 


a 


<( 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


99 


the 


This  plan  had  not  been  foreseen  by  Gibbons,  and 
he  was  unprepared  for  it. 

"  The  men  must  come  out  sooner  or  later,  and  when 
they  do  we  will  have  a  talk  with  them,"  said  the  sec- 
retary. "  My  own  opinion  is  that  they  will  come  out 
to-night  at  the  usual  hour,  and  I  propose  to  act  on 
that  supposition.  If  I  find  I  am  wrong,  we  will  meet 
again  to-night,  and  I  will  have  some  proposals  to  make. 
In  a  short  time  wc  shall  be  able  to  learn  whether  the 
scabs  are  coming  out  or  not.  Meanwhile,  get  back 
among  our  own  men,  and  advise  them  not  to  make 
any  hostile  demonstration  when  the  blacklegs  ap- 
pear; and  when  the  scabs  come  out,  let  each  man  of 
you  persuade  as  many  as  you  can  to  come  to  the  big 
hail,  where  we  can  have  a  talk  with  them.  Tell  the 
men  that  if  there  is  any  violence  they  will  be  merely 
playing  into  Sartwell's  hands.  We  don't  want  the 
police  down  on  us,  and,  until  there  is  a  row,  they  will 
at  least  remain  neutral." 

This  advice  commended  itself  to  all  who  heard  it, 
and,  the  details  of  the  programme  having  been  ar 
ranged,  they  all  departed  for  the  scene  of  conflict. 

Promptly  at  six  o'clock  the  gates  were  thrown 
open,  and  shortly  after  the  "  blacklegs  "  began  to  pour 
forth  into  the  street.  There  were  no  hootings  nor 
jeerings,  but  the  strikers  regarded  the  new-comers 
with  scowling  looks,  while  the  latter  seemed  rather 
uncomfortable,  many  of  them  evidently  apprehensive 
regarding  their  reception. 

"Men,"  cried  Gibbons,  "who  is  your  leader?  I 
want  a  word  with  him." 

The  stream  of  humanity  paused  for  a  moment,  in 
spite  of  the  commands  of  the  police  to  move  along. 
The  men  looked  at  one  another,  and  Gibbons  quickly 
recognized  the  state  of  things — they  were  strangers  to 
each  other,  coming  as  they  did  from  all  parts  of  Eng- 
land. This  surmise  was  confirmed  by  one  man,  who 
spoke  up  : 

"  We've  got  no  leader,"  he  said. 


•v.. 


lOO 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


m 


"  Then  you  be  the  spokesman,"  cried  Gibbons. 
"  Did  you  men  know,  when  you  came  here,  that  there 
was  a  strike  on  ?  " 

"  Something  of  that  sort,"  replied  the  spokesman, 
sullenly. 

"  Do  you  belong  to  a  Union  ?  " 

**  The  Union  never  did  nowt  for  us." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  taking  bread  from  the 
mouths  of  other  workers  ?  " 

"  We  must  put  bread  into  our  own  mouths." 

At  this  point  the  police  captain  touched  Gibbons 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  allow  this  obstruction,"  he  said. 

"  Give  me  two  minutes,"  pleaded  Gibbons. 

"  No — nor  one." 

Gibbons  turned  savagely  upon  him. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  Have  some  tact  and  sense. 
Don't  you  know  that  I  have  merely  to  raise  my  hand 
and  this  crowd  will  sweep  you  and  your  men  off  the 
face  of  the  earth  ?  " 

**  That  won't  prevent  me  from  sweeping  you  into 
prison." 

"Certainly  not.  But  you  can  arrest  me  quietly, 
when  you  like,  or  I'll  meet  you  at  the  police  station 
any  hour  you  name,  but  if  you  attempt  to  interfere 
now,  you'll  have  a  riot  on  your  hands.  I'm  holding 
this  crowd  in  check — it  is  not  their  fear  of  you. 
There's  no  trafific  coming  through  this  street  nor  likely 
to  come.  We're  therefore  obstructing  nothing,  and 
I'm  as  anxious  as  you  are  to  keep  the  men  within  the 
law.  Good  heavens  !  you  may  have  your  hands  full 
at  any  moment,  so  don't  push  patient  people  over  the 
line.  Remember,  you  are  not  in  Sartwell's  employ. 
I  only  want  a  few  words  with  these  men,  then  we'll 
leave  the  street  to  you." 

The  captain  hesitated  a  moment.  It  was  an  omi- 
nous mob. 

"  Look  sharp  then,"  he  said,  and  stepped  back. 

"  Come  with  us,"  cried  Gibbons.     "  We  can't  talk 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


loi 


here.  Come  to  the  big  hall,  and  if  you  don't  like 
what  we  say  there  will  be  no  harm  done.  This  is  a 
free  country." 

The  secretary  turned  as  if  he  had  no  doubt  that  the 
crowd  would  follow,  and  the  leaderless  men  walked 
after  him.  Gibbons*  assistants  mixed  among  them, 
and  talked  persuasively  with  the  strangers.  Before 
half  an  hour  all  the  "  blacklegs,"  were  in  the  Salvation 
Army  hall,  signing  the  Union  roll  and  being  put  on 
the  strike-pay  list. 

It  was  a  notable  triumph  for  Gibbons ;  first  blood, 
as  a  sporting-man  would  say. 

Next  morning,  when  the  gates  were  opened,  not  a 
man  entered,  and  Sartwell  once  more  found  himself 
without  an  employee.  After  the  gates  had  remained 
invitingly  open  for  half  an  hour,  they  were  closed 
again,  and  a  great  cheer  went  up  as  the  two  big  iron- 
bolted  leaves  came  together. 

Sari  U's  resources,  however,  were  not  yet  ex- 
hausted, for  two  days  later  the  factory  was  thronged 
with  workmen  once  more,  and  these  also  Gibbons 
bought  from  under  the  manager. 

Thus  the  game  went  on,  and  it  convinced  the  men 
that  their  secretary  knew  a  thing  or  two,  being  more 
than  a  match  for  the  manager.  Gibbons  carried  him- 
self confidently,  and  talked  with  grand  assurance  that 
he  was  perhaps  far  from  feeling,  for  he  became  more 
and  more  haggard  and  anxious  as  the  fight  continued. 
He  alone  knew  the  seriousness  of  the  increased  drain 
on  the  resources  of  the  Union,  through  the  forced 
support  of  the  new  hands  he  had  lured  away  from 
Sartwell's  employ,  and  which  had  upset  all  his  previ- 
ous calculations.  An  attempt  bad  been  made  to 
lighten  the  burden  by  trying  to  induce  the  new  men 
to  return  to  their  homes,  and  this  had  been  partially 
successful  with  the  first  lot,  but  the  others  obstinately 
insisted  on  getting  their  share  of  the  strike  pay,  and 
refused  even  to  consider  the  advisability  of  returning. 
They  demanded  what  was  promised  them,  or  threat- 


M 


1 4 


V 

1 


i 


!r.»i 


iU 


;    ■ L-UHuji 


102 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i 


.1 1 


il  * 


■^ 

m 


ened  to  enter  the  works  in  a  body,  which  action  would 
have  speedily  put  an  end  to  the  contest.  Gibbons 
was  well  supported  by  that  section  of  the  press  which 
gave  more  than  a  few  lines  each  day  to  the  progress  of 
the  strike.  One  morning  the  chief  of  these  papers 
came  out  with  an  appeal  to  the  public  for  aid.  The 
case  of  the  strikers,  battling,  it  might  be,  at  first  for 
their  own  riglts,  but  fighting  in  reality  for  all  working 
humanity,  was  most  convincingly  and  tersely  put  in  a 
double-leaded  editorial,  and  the  journal  itself  headed 
the  list  with  a  handsome  contribution.  Would  the 
people  of  England  hold  aloof,  reduce  these  workers 
into  slaves,  using  the  weapon  of  grim  starvation 
against  them?  The  journal  did  not  believe  such 
apathy  existed,  and  its  belief  was  amply  justified,  for 
subscriptions  poured  rapidly  in,  together  with  indig- 
nant letters  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  which  were 
duly  printed  in  its  columns. 

The  first  pinch  of  the  strike  came  on  the  men  when 
it  was  suddenly  announced  that  strike  pay  would,  the 
next  Saturday,  be  cut  down  to  one-quarter  the  amount 
they  were  then  receiving.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
grumbling  and  some  inquiries  as  to  what  they  were 
fighting  for,  but,  on  the  whole,  the  disastrous  procla- 
mation was  received  quietly,  if  somewhat  grimly. 

"  We  are  bound  to  win,"  said  Gibbons,  when  he  was 
reluctantly  compelled  to  tell  the  men  of  the  reduction. 
"  The  firm  is  losing  nearly  a  thousand  pounds  a  week 
by  the  factory  remaining  idle,  and  it  is  not  likely  they 
will  stand  that  long,  even  to  oblige  Sartwell." 

Gibbons  had  not  the  courage  to  add  that  even  with 
this  reduction  the  Union  could  not  hold  out  more 
than  a  week  longer  ;  that  it  was  practically  at  the  end 
of  its  resources,  and  that  future  strike  pay  would  have 
to  depend  on  the  subscriptions  received  from  the  out- 
side, a  most  precarious  source  of  revenue,  for  every  one 
knows  how  short-lived  enthusiasm  is,  and  how  the  col- 
lection of  hard  cash  destroys  it. 

There  is  much  in  good  generalship,  and  one  of  its 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


103 


with 

more 

end 

have 

:  out- 

y  one 

ne  col- 

of  its 


axioms  is  that  you  should  endeavour  to  discover  your 
enemy's  weakest  point.  Never  once  did  it  dawn  on 
Gibbons  or  any  of  his  Heutenants,  that  the  fortress 
they  were  attacking  had  only  to  be  approached  in  one 
direction,  when  the  walls  would  have  crumbled  like 
those  of  Jericho ;  never  did  it  occur  to  him  that  Sart- 
well  was  fighting  at  the  same  time  two  battles — one 
with  the  men  and  one  with  the  masters,  and  of  the 
two  contests  he  feared  the  result  of  the  latter  most. 
Sartwell  was  between  two  fires;  he  had  urged  both 
Monkton  and  Hope  to  quit  England  until  the  fight 
was  over,  and  leave  the  conducting  of  it  to  him..  They 
vacillated ;  in  the  evening  Sartwell  might  have  their 
promise,  but  in  the  morning  they  had  changed  what 
they  were  pleased  to  call  their  minds.  They  always 
feared  the  worst.  They  saw  the  factory  in  flames,  and 
the  mob  shot  down  by  troops.  They  implored  Sart- 
well to  come  to  some  agreement  with  the  men.  He 
had  said  the  strike  would  be  over  in  three  weeks,  and 
here  it  was  still  dragging  on,  the  men  as  determined 
as  ever.  If  he  were  wrong  about  the  duration  of  the 
fight,  might  he  not  be  wrong  also  in  his  treatment  of 
the  men?     Was  no  compromise  possible  ? 

This  sort  of  thing  Sartwell  had  to  contend  with,  and 
it  wearied  him  more  than  the  strike  itself.  He  opened 
the  papers  in  daily  fear  that  he  would  find  there  some 
letter  from  the  firm,  in  answer  to  the  strictures  of  the 
day  before,  which  would  show  the  public  at  once  how 
the  land  lay. 

Gibbons  believed  that  the  backbone  of  a  fight  was 
money,  as  in  many  cases  it  is  ;  but  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion might  have  shown  him  that,  if  the  fight  was  to  be 
conducted  on  a  cash  basis,  the  strikers  had  not  a  ghost 
of  a  chance,  because  the  firm  of  Monkton  &  Hope 
was  much  richer  than  the  Union.  He  believed  in 
fighting  the  devil  with  fire.  Adages  are  supposed  to 
represent  the  condensed  wisdom  of  the  ages,  whereas 
they  too  often  represent  condensed  foolishness.  If 
one  has  to  meet   an  expert  swordsman  on  the  field  of 


i 


■•  I 


[ji 


'4 

11 


104 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


honour,  he  should  select  a  pistol  if  he  has  the  choice  of 
weapons.  Fight  the  devil  if  you  like,  but  never  with 
fire.  When  Marsten  had  said  to  Gibbons,  '*  Mr.  Sart- 
well  knows  to  a  penny  how  much  you  have  in  the 
bank,"  the  secretary  had  answered  grandly  that  Sart- 
well  might  see  the  books  of  the  Union  for  all  he 
cared,  and  much  good  might  it  do  him.  The  fact 
that  a  man  like  Sartwell  thought  it  worth  his  while  to 
find  out  what  the  enemy  was  doing,  did  not  suggest  to 
Gibbons  that  it  might  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  have  a 
look  over  Sartwell's  shoulders,  and  discover  just  how 
things  were  going  in  the  privacy  of  the  manager's 
office.  When  Marsten  ferreted  out  various  things  as 
the  fight  progressed,  and  brought  his  knowledge  to 
Gibbons,  the  latter  waved  it  aside  as  of  no  conse- 
quence, treating  Marsten  throughout  as  an  enemy  in 
the  camp. 

Timid  little  Mr.  Hope  passed  through  the  gates 
each  day  to  his  ofifice,  scarcely  ever  glancing  at  the 
crowd  that  hooted  him  and  made  remarks  not  pleasant 
to  hear.  He  dreaded  the  moment  of  arriving  and 
leaving,  but  thought  it  a  courageous  thing  to  do,  im- 
agining he  would  be  neglecting  his  duties  as  a  free- 
born  Briton  if  he  deserted  his  post  at  this  time  of 
danger. 

If  Gibbons  had  been  a  shrewd  man,  he  would  have 
called  upon  Mr.  Hope  at  Surbiton,  and  ten  minutes' 
conversation  there  would  have  shown  him  the  true 
state  of  affairs,  for  the  timid  little  manufacturer  was 
as  transparent  as  crystal.  If  the  secretary  had  lured 
one  of  the  partners  to  the  strikers'  place  of  meeting, 
which  might  have  been  accomplished  as  easily  as  with 
the  "  blacklegs "  from  the  country,  he  would  in  all 
probability  have  had  a  public  statement  which  would 
have  made  Sartwell's  resignation  inevitable.  Thus 
might  Gibbons  have  led  his  army  to  victory,  and  at 
the  same  time  have  placed  his  enemy  where  his  army 
then  was — outside  the  gates. 

And  this  was  merely  one  of  the  methods  by  which 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


105 


a  clever  general  would  have  triumphed.  If  Gibbons 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  inform  himself  about  the 
effect  the  few  editorials  had  producea  in  the  minds  of 
the  partners,  he  would  have  endeavoured  to  make 
arrangements  for  the  publication  of  a  series  of  articles 
on  the  well-known  philanthropy  of  the^firm,  with  some 
moral  reflections  about  charity  beginning  at  home. 
This  undoubtedly  would  have  caused  the  ground  to 
crumble  away  beneath  the  feet  of  Sartwell,  for  Monk- 
ton  &  Hope  were  proud  of  the  good  their  benefac- 
tions were  supposed  to  do  ;  and  until  this  trouble  had 
arisen,  they  had  thought  themselves  just  employers, 
who  treated  their  men  with  fairness,  as  indeed  they 
were,  and  as  indeed  they  did. 

Now  they  were  in  doubt  about  the  matter,  and  had 
an  uneasy  feeling  that  they  had  been,  perhaps,  remiss 
in  their  duties  toward  their  employees.  Sartwell 
dominated  them  when  he  was  in  their  presence,  and 
they  knew  his  value  too  well  to  run  the  risk  of  losing 
him.  They  knew,  also,  if  they  gave  way  to  the  men 
without  his  sanction,  they  would  lose  him,  and  they 
had  rivals  in  London  who  would  be  only  too  glad  to 
take  him  into  their  employ  ;  yet  in  spite  of  this  know- 
ledge they  wavered,  and  it  required  but  a  little  tact  and 
diplomacy  on  the  part  of  Gibbons  to  win  a  victory  all 
along  the  line. 


I! 


t 


i 


my 


:»■■ 

r.V- 


I 


CHAPTER   XI. 


Sartwell  showed  little  sign  of  the  wear  and  tear 
of  the  struggle.  He  walked  from  the  station  to  his 
office  every  morning  at  his  usual  hour,  as  if  everything 
were  going  on  to  his  entire]satisfaction.  He  was  always 
dressed  with  scrupulous  neatness,  and  he  invariably 
carried  in  his  hand  a  trimly  folded  umbrella,  which  no 
one  had  ever  seen  him  undo,  for  when  it  rained  he 
took  a  cab.  The  umbrella  seemed  a  part  of  him,  and 
a  purely  ornamental  part ;  he  was  never  met  on  the 
street  without  it.  No  man  could  say  when  Sartwell 
purchased  a  new  suit  of  clothes  ;  each  suit  was  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  the  one  that  preceded  it,  and  it  was 
always  put  on  before  its  predecessor  began  to  show 
signs  of  wear. 

There  was  as  little  change  in  Sartwell's  demeanour 
towards  his  men  as  there  was  in  his  clothes.  He  did 
not  keep  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  he  passed  along 
the  street  to  the  gates,  nor  was  there,  on  the  other 
hand,  any  belligerency  in  his  manner.  The  men  had 
gone  out ;  that  was  their  affair  ;  he  nodded  to  them 
or  bade  them  a  curt  "  Good-morning,"  as  had  been 
his  habit  before  the  trouble.  Few  of  them  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  do  otherwise  than  raise  their  fin- 
gers to  their  caps  or  answer,  with  the  customary  mum- 
ble, "  Mornin*,  sir."  Habit  is  strong  in  the  human 
animal,  as  has  often  been  pointed  out. 

No  one  of  all  those  concerned  was  more  anxious 
for  the  strike  to  end  than  Sartwell,  but  none  the  less 
was  he  determined  that  it  should  end  his  way.  He 
saw  the  openings  in  his  armour  through  which,  with  a 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


107 


*cious 
less 
He 
ith  a 


blindness  not  understandable  to  the  manager,  Gibbons 
neglected  to  thrust. 

Cuiiously  enough,  it  was  not  Gibbons  that  Sartwell 
feared  in  this  contest,  but  Marsten.  He  knew  the 
young  man  had  been  strongly  against  the  strike,  but 
he  also  knew  that  he  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the 
men ;  and  although  the  leaders  of  the  strike,  up  to 
that  time,  had  held  aloof  from  Marsten,  pretending  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  covert  traitor  to  the  cause,  still 
Sartwell  feared  they  might  take  him  into  their  coun- 
sels at  last,  and  that  he  would  show  them  the  way 
out  of  their  difficulties.  The  manager  had  made  it 
his  business  to  learn  all  he  could  of  what  was  done 
by  his  opponents,  and  he  had  been  amazingly  success- 
ful. He  knew  of  Marsten's  visit  to  Barney  and  of  the 
generally  futile  result  of  that  conference;  but  he  had 
so  slight  a  confidence  in  Barney's  good  sense,  that  he 
feared  some  hint  might  have  been  dropped  by  the  ar- 
tist which  would  show  the  men  how  anxious  Monkton 
&  Hope  were  for  a  settlement  on  almost  any  terms. 
As  time  passed,  and  Sartwell  saw  that  Gibbons  still 
held  Marsten  at  arm's  length,  he  became  less  and  less 
anxious.  Affairs  were  rapidly  approaching  a  crisis 
when  Marsten's  aid  would  be  useless. 

A  few  days  after  the  announcement  of  the  reduc- 
tion in  strike  pay  had  been  made,  Sartwell,  approach- 
ing the  gates  in  the  morning,  saw  Marsten  standing 
alone  at  the  street  corner.  The  manager  had  almost 
passed  him  without  greeting  on  either  side,  when  the 
elder  man  suddenly  stopped,  turned  half  around,  and 
said  sharply : 

*'On  picket  duty,  Marsten? 

"  No,  Mr.  Sartwell." 

"  Not  in  their  confidence,  perhaps.' 

"  I  suppose  I  am  neither  in  their  confidence,  nor  in 
yours,  Mr.  Sartwell." 

"Rather  an  uncomfortable  position,  is  it  not?  I 
should  like  to  be  one  thing  or  the  other  if  I  were  in 
your  place,  Marsten.'" 


»» 


»* 


4 


i 

^  * 


■J 


:1 


i 


'  ;1 


» 


io8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  I  am  one  thing.     I  am  entirely  with  the  men." 

**  Perhaps  in  that  case  you  are  afraid  to  be  seen 
talking  with  me.  Some  of  the  men  might  happen  to 
pass  this  way." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  seen  speaking  with  any- 
body, Mr.  Sartwell." 

"Ah,  you  are  young;  therefore  you  are  brave.  I 
have  known  a  smaller  thing  than  this  conversation  to 
cost  a  man  his  life,  but  perhaps  times  and  methods 
have  changed  since  my  early  days.  It  is  a  pity  you 
are  on  the  wrong  side  for  your  bravery  to  be  ap- 
preciated. The  masters  of  this  world  always  value 
talent  and  courage,  and  pay  well  for  them.  The  men 
do  neither.  That  is  why  they  are  usually  beaten  in  a 
fight,  and  it  is  one  of  the  many  reasons  why  they 
should  be.  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you  ;  the 
street  corner  is  not  a  good  place  for  a  private  con- 
versation ,  will  you  come  to  my  oflfice  in  an  hour's 
time  ?  '* 

"  Do  you  wish  to  speak  about  the  strike  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Sartwell,  looking  with  some  intentness 
at  the  young  man.  "  We  have  no  other  subject  of 
mutual  interest  that  I  know  of." 

"  Very  good.  I  merely  asked,  because  whatever 
you  may  have  to  tell  me,  I  shall  use  in  the  interests  of 
the  men.** 

Sartwell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  are  quite  welcome,"  he  said,  "  to  make  what 
use  you  please  of  the  information  I  shall  give  you.  I 
am  well  aware  that  your  advice  is  in  demand  by  the 
men  and  their  leaders.** 

The  elder  man  walked  briskly  on  ;  the  younger 
reddened  at  the  covert  sneer  in  his  last  remark. 

"  My  God,'*  he  said  to  himself,  angrily,  "  I  would 
like  to  fight  that  man." 

Marsten  turned  and  walked  rapidly  to  the  strike 
headquarters.  There  he  found  Gibbons  and  the  com- 
mittee in  consultation,  while  a  few  of  the  men  lounged 
about  the  place.     The  talk  ceased  as  Marsten  entered 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


109 


Id 


the  room,  the  committee  and  its  chairman  looking 
loweringly  at  him. 

"  What  do  you  want?  '*  asked  Gibbons,  shortly. 

"  I  met  Mr.  Sartwell  a  moment  ago  in  the  street  and 
he  said  he  had  something  to  tell  me  about  the  strike  ; 
he  asked  me  to  call  at  his  office  in  an  hour's  time.  I 
promised  to  do  so,  but  told  him  any  information  he 
gave  me  I  should  use  in  the  interests  of  the  men." 

"  And  so  you  came  here,  I  suppose,  to  get  some 
information  to  give  in  return  f  " 

Marsten  had  resolved  not  to  allow  himself  to  be 
taunted  into  anger,  but  he  saw  he  had  no  easy  task 
before  him.  He  was  going  to  do  his  duty,  he  said  to 
himself,  and  help  his  comrades  if  he  could  ;  the  situa- 
tion was  too  serious  for  recrimination. 

"  No.  I  shall  tell  him  nothing.  If  he  wants  infor- 
mation I  shall  refer  him  to  yju.  I  thought  he  per- 
haps might  say  something  that  would  be  of  value  for 
us  to  know,  and  so  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  am  going 
to  his  office." 

"Us?     Who  do  you  mean  by  us  ?  " 

"  The  men  on  strike.  I  am  on  strike  as  well  as  the 
others.  I  have  lost  a  situation,  even  if  you  haven't," 
retorted  the  young  man,  knowing  as  he  spoke  that  he 
was  not  keeping  to  his  resolution. 

"  Well,"  said  Gibbons,  taking  no  n  -tice  of  the  other's 
insinuation,  *'  you  don't  need  to  come  here  for  per- 
mission to  visit  Sartwell's  office.  I  suppose  you  have 
often  been  there  before." 

"  I  have  not  been  there  since  the  strike  began." 

"Oh,  haven't  you?" 

"No,  I  haven't.  Do  you  mean  to  assert  that  I 
have  ?  " 

"  I  assert  nothing.  It  merely  seems  strange  to  me 
that  you  should  come  bawhng  here,  saying  you  are  go- 
ing to  consult  Sartwell.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  us. 
Go  and  come  as  you  please,  for  all  I  care." 

The  members  of  the  committee  murmured  approval 
of  the  chairman's  firm  stand,  and  Marsten,  seeing  there 


i) 


'I 

Mi 


I 


I* 


V 


no 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I 

■V 

i-  i 

'■V 

!      i 

<»» 

tj  : 

i 

»v 

was  little  use  in  further  delay,  turned  on  his  heel  and 
left  them.  The  men  lounging  around  the  door  nodded 
to  him  in  a  friendly  manner  as  he  went  out,  and  the 
committee  presumably  continued  its  deliberations,  un- 
troubled by  the  interruption. 

The  young .  man  walked  down  the  street,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  sick  at  heart,  rather 
than  angry,  with  the  fatuous  pettiness  of  Gibbons's 
resentment,  who  would  rather  wound  and  humiliate  a 
man  he  disliked,  than  accept  help  when  it  was  freely 
offered. 

"How  different,"  said  Marsten  to  himself,  "  is  the 
conduct  of  SartwcU  !  He  has  more  cause  to  detest  me 
than  Gibbons  has,  yet  he  asks  me  to  confer  with  him. 
He  does  not  despise  the  smallest  card  in  his  hand,  while 
Gibbons  may  be  throwing  away  a  trump,  if  I  were 
mean  enough,  and  traitor  enough  to  the  men,  to  refuse 
to  tell  what  I  may  learn.  Sartwell,  parting  with  me 
in  anger,  hails  me  on  the  street,  merely  because  he 
thinks  he  can  use  me  to  serve  his  employers.  That  he 
likes  me  no  better  than  he  did  when  I  left  him,  is 
shown  by  the  sting  in  his  talk,  yet  he  puts  down  his 
personal  feelings,  hoping  to  win  a  trick  ;  while  Gibbons, 
the  fool,  although  approached  in  a  friendly  way,  does 
his  sneaking  little  best  to  drive  a  man  over  to  the 
enemy.  I  wonder  what  Sartwell  wf.nts  to  discover. 
I'll  tell  him  nothing;  but  what  a  man  he  is  to  fight 
for — or  against !  " 

"Hold  hard,  youngster.  Where  are  you  going?" 
cried  the  picket  at  the  gate. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  Mr.  Sartwell.' 

"  Oh,  no,  you're  not." 

"  It's  all  right,  mate ;  I've  just  come  from  headquar- 
ters. I  am  going  with  the  committee's  consent  and 
Gibbons's  permission." 

"  What's  on  ?  "  asked  the  picket  in  a  whisper,  while 
others  of  the  strikers  crowded  around. 

"  Is  the  jig  up  ?    Are  we  going  to  give  in  ?  " 

"There's   nothing   new.     I'll   know   more  when   I 


it 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Ill 


come  out.  Perhaps  Sartwcll  has  something  to  pro- 
pose ;  we  haven't." 

The  men  drew  back,  with  a  simultaneous  sigh  that 
may  have  indicated  relief,  or  perhaps  disappointment. 
The  sternness  of  their  resolution  to  hold  out  did  not 
increase  under  reduced  strike  pay.  Their  organiza- 
tion was  disintegrating,  rotting;  each  man  knew  it 
and  was  suspicious  of  his  comrades.  The  heart  had 
gone  out  of  the  fight. 

Marsten,  crossing  the  deserted  and  silent  yard, 
mounted  the  stairs,  and  rapped  at  the  manager's  door. 
He  found  Sartwell  alone,  standing  at  his  desk,  with 
some  papers  before  him. 

"  Now,  Marsten,"  began  the  manager  brusquely, 
turning  from  his  desk,  "  you  think  I've  asked  you 
here  to  learn  something  from  you,  and  you  have 
firmly  resolved  to  tell  me  nothing.  That's  right.  I 
like  to  see  a  man  stick  to  his  colours.  We  save  the 
ship  if  we  can ;  if  she  sinks  we  go  down  with  her. 
You  may  be  surprised  then  to  know  that  I  am  not 
going  to  ask  you  a  single  question.  That  will  relieve 
your  mind  and  enable  you  to  give  full  attention  to 
what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I  hope,  however,  that  you 
will  keep  your  word  and  remember  the  promise  you 
made  me  a  short  time  since  on  the  street." 

"  What  promise  ?  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  it  ?  Perhaps  you  thought  it 
was  a  threat.  You  said  you  would  give  the  men  the 
information  you  received.  I  hold  you  to  that.  To 
tell  Gibbons  is  not  necessarily  to  ell  the  men.  You 
said  you  would  let  the  men  know." 

"  I  will  repeat  your  conversation  to  Gibbons  and  the 
committee." 

"  Ah,  that's  not  what  you  said.  Neither  Gibbons 
nor  the  committee  were  mentioned  in  our  talk  this 
morning." 

"  As  near  as  I  can  recollect,  I  said  I  would  use  what 
information  I  received  in  the  interests  of  the  men." 

"  Quite  so.     I  am  as  anxious  about  the  men's  wel- 


i 


■  T 


'■4 


i 


c  ♦ 


i 


if! 


112 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1' 


* 


S\ 


fare  as  you  are,  and  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  must 
reach  them.  If  yon  tell  it  to  Gibbons  and  the  com- 
mittee, and  if  they  do  not  pass  it  on  to  the  men,  as 
they  will  take  precious  good  care  not  to  do,  I  shall 
then  learn  whether  you  are  a  man  of  your  word  or 
not.  The  strikers  meet  to-night  at  the  Salvation  Hall. 
If  Gibbons  does  not  inform  them  what  he  will  then 
know,  I  shall  expect  you  to  stand  up  in  your  place 
and  add  to  the  enlightenment  of  the  situation.  When 
you  were  here  last  I  showed  you  a  sheet  of  paper,  at 
the  top  of  which  was  written  the  resources,  for  the 
moment,  of  .the  Union.  The  remainder  of  the  sheet 
was  blank,  but  it  is  now  filled  up.  It  shows  the  ex- 
penditure, week  by  week,  up  to  the  kst  payment 
made  to  those  on  strike.  If  you  cast  your  eye  over 
this  sheet,  you  will  see  that  the  Union  is  now  bank- 
rupt. 

*  If  that  is  all  you  have  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Sartwell,  it 
is  no  news.  The  men  already  know  they  are  depend- 
*ng  on  public  subscriptions." 

"And  they  still  believe  in  Gibbons  as  a  leader?" 

"  Yes." 

**  Very  good.  Now,  I  come  to  what  is  news — news 
to  you,  to  Gibbons,  and  to  the  men.  Most  of  this 
money  has  gone  to  loafers  from  the  east  end  of  Lon- 
don. I  had  such  unlimited  confidence  in  Gibbons's 
foolishness  and  in  the  stupidity  of  the  committee,  that 
I  have  sent  through  the  gates,  not  workmen  like  you, 
but  such  unfortunate  wretches  as  were  out  of  work 
and  willing  to  absorb  strike  pay  merely  on  condition 
that  they  would  keep  their  mouths  shut.  It  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  Gibbons  that,  if  I  were  able  to  fill 
up  the  works  with  men  transported  to  our  river-steps 
on  a  steamer,  I  could  either  have  fed  rnd  lodged  them 
here,  or  taken  them  back  and  forth  in  the  same  way 
they  came.  He  gathered  them  into  the  Union  with  a 
whoop,  which  was  just  what  I  expected  him  to  do, 
but  he  never  tried  to  find  out  whether  they  were  genu- 
ine workmen  or  not." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


11^. 


n 


(( 


You  mean,  then,  that  by  a  trick  you  have  bank- 
rupted the  Union." 

Sartwell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Call  it  a  trick,  if  you  like.  A  strike  is  war;  you 
must  not  expect  it  to  be  fought  with  rose-leaves.  But 
aside  from  that,  I  have  borne  in  mind  the  r  al  interests 
of  the  men.  I  could  have  filled  the  works  with  com- 
petent men — yes,  ten  times  over.  If  I  had  done  so, 
where  would  the  strikers  be  at  the  end  of  the  fight? 
Some  would  be  in  prison,  some  would  have  broken 
heads,  all  would  be  out  of  employment.  I  want  my 
own  men  jack  here.  I  want  them  to  understand  they 
have  got  a  fool  for  a  leader.  They  have  had  a  nice 
little  play  spell ;  they  have  eaten  and  drank  their 
money — the  vacation  has  come  to  an  end.  If  they  re- 
turn t(^  work  now,  there  is  work  for  them  ;  if  they 
delay  much  longer,  I  shall  fill  the  shops  with  genuine 
workmen,  and  the  Union  has  no  money  now  to  bribe 
them  with." 

"  If  I  tell  the  men  all  this,  there  will  be  a  riot. 
They  will  mob  the  bogus  workmen  who  have  taken 
their  money." 

"  Oh,  no,  they  won't.  have  told  the  bogus  work- 
men just  how  long  the  money  would  continue  to  be 
paid,  if  they  held  their  tongues.  With  last  week's  re- 
duced payment  the  loafers  have  scattered.  The  men 
may  mob  Gibbons,  and  I  think  he  richly  deserves  it." 

"  They  will  be  much  more  likely  to  attack  you." 

"  They  are  welcome  to  try  it.  Now,  I  think  that 
is  all  I  have  to  say,  Marsten.  I  have  required  no 
answers  from  you,  and  I  imagine  I  have  given  you 
some  interesting  information.  I  am  ready  to  get  to 
work,  with  the  former  employees  of  the  firm,  or  with- 
out them,  just  as  they  choose.  The  best  friend  of  the 
men  will  be  he  who  advises  them  to  call  off  this  fool- 
ish strike  and  buckle  down  to  business  once  more." 


I 

I 


4 


i* 


I 
I 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Albert  Langly  found  himself  compelled  to  search 
for  a  cheaper  room.  The  thin  young  man  bitterly  re- 
gretted that  good  money  had  to  be  wasted  on  food, 
clothes  and  rent.  A  person  cannot  live  without  food ; 
Langly  had  tried  it,  not  as  an  economical  experiment, 
but  largely  through  forgetfulness,  and  he  found,  to  his 
astonishment,  that  hunger  actually  forced  itself  upon 
his  attention,  after  a  sufficient  lapse  of  time.  The 
changeable  English  climate,  not  to  mention  the  regu- 
lations of  that  moral  body  the  police  force,  compelled 
him  to  cover  himself ;  and  a  room  he  needed  mainly 
to  keep  his  stacks  of  music  dry.  The  church  of  St. 
Martyrs-in-the-East  afforded  a  very  good  living  to  its 
rector  and  a  very  poor  one  for  its  organist,  although 
if  people  were  paid  according  to  professional  efficiency 
in  this  world,  the  salaries  of  clergyman  and  musician 
might  have  been  reversed.  Those  who  entered  the 
church  door  came,  not  to  hear  the  sermon,  but  to 
listen  to  the  music. 

Langly  never  applied  for  more  remuneration,  be- 
cause deep  down  in  his  musical  soul  he  knew  he  was 
already  taking  advantage  of  the  generosity  of  the 
church  authorities,  and  he  lived  in  constant  fear  that 
some  day  they  would  discover  this  and  righteously 
dismiss  him.  To  be  allowed  to  play  on  that  splendid 
instrument,  erected  at  the  cost  of  an  unbelievable 
amount  of  money,  was  a  privilege  which  he  felt  he 
ought  to  pay  for,  if  he  were  the  honest  man  the  dea- 
cons thought  him.  He  tried  to  soothe  his  troubled 
conscience,  by  telling  it  that  he  would  refuse  to  take 
money  were  it  not  that  sheet  music  was  so  dear,  even 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


115 


:o 


at 

id 


,ke 
en 


when  bought  from  the  man  who  gave  the  largest  dis- 
count in  London,  to  whose  shop  Langly  tramped 
miles  once  a  week ;  but  thus  the  guilty  have  ever  en- 
deavoured to  lull  the  inward  monitor,  well  knowing, 
while  they  did  so,  the  sophistry  of  their  excuses.  The 
consciousness  of  deceit  told  on  Langly 's  manner ;  he 
cringed  before  the  rector  and  those  in  authority. 
Never  did  one  of  the  kindly  but  deluded  men  accost 
their  organist  without  causing  a  timorous  fear  to 
spring  up  in  his  heart  that  the  hour  of  his  dismissal  had 
arrived.  Yet,  let  moralists  say  what  they  will,  the 
wicked  do  prosper  sometimes  on  this  earth  when  they 
shouldn't,  while  the  innocent  suffer  for  the  misdeeds 
done  by  others.  There  was  the  case  of  Belcher,  for 
example,  and  although  it  must  in  justice  be  admitted 
that  Belcher's  hard  luck  caused  the  organist  many 
twinges  of  conscience,  still  of  what  avail  are  twinges 
of  conscience  when  the  harm  is  wrought?  If,  in  our 
selfishness,  we  bring  disaster  on  a  fellow-creature, 
after-regret  can  scarcely  be  called  reparation. 

Belcher  was  the  hard-working  industrious  man  who 
pumped  the  organ  in  St.  Martyrs,  and,  besides  labour- 
ing during  the  regular  service,  it  was  also  his  duty  to 
attend  when  the  organist  wished  to  practice  the  selec- 
tions which  afterwards  delighted  the  congregation. 
This  was  Belcher's  grievance.  Langly  had  no  '*  mussy," 
as  the  overworked  pumper  told  his  sympathizing  com- 
rades at  the  "  Rose  and  Crown."  He  would  rather 
follow  the  vestry-cart  all  day  with  a  shovel,  would 
Belcher,  than  suffer  the  slavery  he  was  called  upon  to 
endure  by  the  unthinking  organist,  who  never  con- 
sidered that  bending  the  back  to  a  lever  was  harder 
work  than  crooking  the  fingers  to  the  keys.  Besides, 
Langly  could  sit  down  to  his  labour,  such  as  it  was, 
while  Belcher  couldn't.  Naturally  the  put-upon  man 
complained,  and  Langly  at  once  admitted  thfe  justice 
of  the  complaint,  at  the  same  time  exhibiting  a 
craven  fear  that  a  rumour  of  his  unjustifiable  conduct 
might  reach  the  ears  of  the  church  authorities.     The 


I 

i 

J 
7 


■■■^s 


f 


I 


V 


Ii6 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


honest  Belcher  now  regretted  that  he  had  borne  his 
burden  so  long,  for  the  reprehensible  organist  imm  di- 
ately  offered  to  compound  with  the  blower  by  paying 
him  something  extra  each  week,  if  he  would  say  noth- 
ing about  the  additional  labour.  It  was  Belcher's 
misfortune  rather  than  his  fault  that  mathematical 
computation  was  not  one  of  his  acquirements,  and  he 
failed  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  there  was  a  limit 
to  the  musician's  income ;  a  limit  very  speedily 
reached.  He  was  an  ill-used  man  and  he  knew  it,  so 
he  struck  often  for  higher  pay  and  got  it,  up  to  the 
point  where  Langly  insisted  that  there  was  not  enough 
left  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  not^to  speak  of 
the  purchase  of  music.  Belcher  yearned  for  the  tail 
of  the  vestry-cart,  and  threatened  to  complain  to  the 
rector ;  which  at  last  he  did,  not  mentioning,  however, 
that  !ic  had  received  extra  remuneration,  because  he 
did  not  wish  to  exhibit  the  organist's  culpability  in  all 
its  repulsiveness.  He  told  the  rector  that  he  would 
rather  accompany  the  vestry-cart  in  its  rounds  than 
accompany  an  organist  who  had  no  "  mussy  "  on  a 
*'  pore  "  man.  He  was  always  ready  to  pump  a  reason- 
able quantity  of  air,  but  if  an  organist  knew  his  trade 
so  badly  that  he  needed  to  practice  so  much,  it  was 
hard  that  the  man  at  the  lever  should  bear  the  brunt 
of  his  incompetence.  The  rector  thanked  Belcher 
for  his  musical  criticism,  and  said  he  would  see  about 
it. 

While  the  virtuous  Belcher  took  his  walks  abroad 
with  his  chin  in  the  air,  as  befits  one  who  has  done  his 
duty,  the  transgressor  crept  along  by-ways  and  scarcely 
dared  to  enter  the  silent  church.  He  dodged  the 
rector  as  long  as  he  could,  but  was  at  length  run  to 
earth.  The  kindly  old  man  put  his  hand  on  the  cul- 
prit's shoulder,  and  said : 

"  You  have  been  overworking  Belcher,  I  hear." 
"  I  shall  be  more  thoughtful  in  future,  sir,"  murmured 
the  nervous  organist  in  excuse.     "  I'm  afraid  I've  been 
playing  too  much,  but  it  is  a  difficult  art " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


117 


the 

to 

;u\- 


"  Of  course  it  is,"  interrupted  the  clergyman.  "  I 
have  made  arrangements  to  satisfy  the  ambition  of 
Belcher,  which  appears  to  tend  in  the  direction  of  a 
vestry-cart,  and  we  are  putting  in  a  hydraulic  blower 
which  we  should  have  put  in  years  ago.  You  will  find 
it  a  great  convenience  in  your  practice,  Mr.  Langly, 
for  it  is  always  ready  and  never  complains." 

The  organist  tried  to  thank  the  rector,  but  his  throat 
seemed  not  at  his  command  for  other  effort  than  a 
gulp  or  two.  The  good  man  smiled  at  the  grotesque 
twistings  of  Langly's  mouth  [and  the  rapid  winking  of 
his  eyelids  ;  then  the  organist  turned  abruptly  and 
walked  away,  tortured  afterwards  with  the  fear  that 
the  rector  might  have  thought  him  rude  and  ungrate- 
ful ;  but  the  old  man  knew  the  musician  much  better 
than  the  musician  knew  himself. 

After  that,  when  Langly  chanced  upon  the  indig- 
nant and  gravely  wronged  Belcher,  at  the  tail  of  his 
oft-mentioned  but  entirely  unexpected  cart,  the  young 
man  shrank  from  the  encounter,  and  felt  that  inward 
uneasiness  which  is  termed  a  troubled  conscience. 

"Call  that  Christianity!"  Belcher  would  say  to  his 
mate  when  their  rounds  took  them  near  St.  Martyrs, 
— "a-puttin*  a  squirtin*  water-pump  in  there,  to  tyke 
th'  bread  out  o'  a  pore  man's  mouth,  an'  a-cuttin'  down 
o'  'is  livin*  wyge  !  Yus,  an'  the  lawr  a-forcin'  us  to 
support  the  Church  too." 

But  Belcher  was  really  of  a  forgiving  spirit,  and 
should  not  be  judged  by  his  harsh  language  towards 
the  Establishment  which,  he  was  under  the  impression, 
rigourous  legal  enactment  compelled  him  to  subsidize  ; 
for  he  so  far  overlooked  Langly's  conduct  as  to  call 
upon  him  occasionally,  and  accept  a  few  pence  as  con- 
science-money. 

"  I  don't  blime  'im,"  said  Belcher  magnanimously, 
over  his  pot  of  beer,  "  as  much  as  I  do  the  mean 
old  duffer  wot  preaches  there.  'E  put  me  on  the 
cart." 

Langly,  as  has  been  said,  found  it  necessary  to  se- 


■A 


'".? 


ii8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'» 


fi 


; 


cure  cheaper  lodgings,  and  this  was  his  own  fault  as 
much  as  it  was  the  fault  of  his  limited  income.  A 
London  landlady  in  the  more  impoverished  districts 
carries  on  a  constant  fight  against  circumstances.  Her 
tenants  pay  her  as  seldom  and  as  little  as  they  can  ; 
sometimes  they  disappear,  and  she  loses  her  money ; 
while  if  they  stay,  there  are  no  chances  of  extracting 
extras,  those  elastic  exactions  which  often  waft  a 
West  End  boarding-house  keeper  to  affluence.  Terms 
are  close  and  invariably  inclusive.  The  organist's 
conduct  towards  his  numerous  and  successive  land- 
ladies admits  of  no  defence.  These  good  women, 
when  he  had  taken  his  departure,  spoke  bitterly  of  his 
sneaky  and  deceptive  ways,  as  indeed  they  had  just 
cause  to  do.  On  first  arriving  at  a  new  place,  he  was 
so  apologetic  and  anxious  not  to  give  any  trouble ;  so 
evidently  a  person  who  did  not  really  live  in  bustling, 
elbowing  London,  but  in  some  dreamy  mental  world 
of  his  own,  that  his  good  hostess,  merely  as  an  experi- 
ment and  entirely  without  prejudice,  as  the  legal  man 
puts  it,  tentatively  placed  on  his  bill  for  the  week 
some  trifling  item,  that,  strictly  speaking,  was  merely 
placed  there  to  be  taken  off  again,  if  complaint  were 
made,  or  allowed  to  stand  if  overlooked.  Of  course, 
under  these  circumstances,  the  landlady  was  in  expec- 
tation of  a  row,  during  which  epithets  reflecting  upon 
her  financial  probity  might  be  hurled  at  her,  when 
she,  with  voluble  excuses  for  her  unfortunate  mistake, 
would  correct  the  error  and  assure  the  lodger  that  such 
a  thing  would  not  occur  again.  After  a  few  essays  of 
this  kind,  all  perfectly  just  ;^and  proper  in  a  commer- 
cial country,  and  in  fact  the  only  means  of  discovering 
to  what  extent  the  lodger  could  be  depended  upon  as 
an  asset,  life  would  flow  on  with  that  calm  serenity 
which  adds  so  much  to  the  comfort  and  enjoyment  of 
a  furnished  apartment  in  the  Borough  or  a  palace  over- 
looking the  Park. 

But  Langly  never  took    a  straightforward   course 
with  his  landladies.     Instead   of  finding  fault  at  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


119 


m 


:h 


'g 


proper  time,  he  meekly  said  nothing  and  paid  the  bills 
as  long  as  he  was  able — bills  which  mounted  higher 
and  higher  each  week.  Thus  the  deluded  woman  had 
no  chance,  as  she  could  not  be  expected  to  know 
when  she  had  reached  the  limit  of  his  weekly  income. 
At  last  the  organist  would  take  his  bundle  of  music 
under  his  arm,  and  would  sneak  away  like  a  thief  in 
the  night,  to  search  for  a  cheaper  abode,  after  leaving 
a  week's  money  in  lieu  of  notice,  wrapped  in  a  piece 
of  paper,  in  a  conspicuous  place,  for  he  had  never  had 
the  courage  o  face  a  landlady  and  baldly  tell  her  he 
was  going. 

In  Rose  Garden  Court  there  was  more  than  one 
family  that  might  be  likened  to  an  accordion,  because 
of  the  facility  with  which  it  could  be  compressed  or 
extended.  The  Scimmins  household  could  occupy  the 
three  rooms  it  rented  in  the  court,  or  it  could  get 
along  with  two,  or  even  one  if  need  be.  The  spare 
space  was  sub-let  whenever  opportunity  offered,  and 
here  Langly  found  lodging  that  had  at  least  the  merit 
of  cheapness.  The  policeman  at  the  entrance  of  the 
court  looked  suspiciously  after  the  new-comer,  and 
resolved  to  keep  an  eye  on  him.  The  organist  had  a 
habit  of  muttering  truculently  to  himsell  as  he  walked 
the  streets,  and  his  nervous  hands  were  never  a 
moment  at  rest,  the  long  slim  fingers  playing  imagi- 
nary keys  or  chords,  inaudible  outside  of  his  own  musi- 
cal imagination. 

When  the  already  suspicious  policeman  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  court  saw  the  musician  come  out,  claw- 
ing the  empty  air  with  the  two  forefingers  of  either 
hand  crooked  like  talons,  a  fearful  frown  on  his  brow, 
and  an  ominous  muttering  in  his  throat,  the  officer 
f  lid  to  nimself : 

"  There  goes  a  hanarchist,  if  ever  there  was  one,'* 
not  knowing  that  the  poor  little  man  was  merely  pull- 
ing the  stops  of  a  mythical  organ,  immense  in  size  and 
heavenly  in  tone.  The  police  always  looked  askance 
at  Langly  when  he  moved  into  a  new  locality,  until 


'1 
I 


I 


J 


A 


ill 


I'.* 


m 


120 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


if 


'h    ' 


they  learned  that  he  was  the  organist  at  St.  Martyrs- 
in-the-East. 

One  night,  shortly  after  he  took  the  back  room  two 
flights  up  at  No.  3,  Langly  came  down  the  common 
stairway,  and  paused  in  amaze  at  the  landing  opposite 
Braunt's  door.  He  heard  some  one  within,  slowly  and 
fearfully  murdering  Chopin's  Funeral  March,  part 
first.  The  sound  made  him  writhe,  and  he  crouched 
by  the  door,  his  fingers  mechanically  drumming 
against  the  panel,  repressing  with  dif^culty  a  desire  to 
cry  out  against  the  profanation  of  a  h  irmony  that 
seemed  sacred  to  him.  The  drone  stopped  suddenly, 
and  next  instant  the  door  was  jerked  open,  causing  the 
amazed  listener  to  stumble  into  the  room,  where,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  a  giant  pounced  down,  clutched  his 
shoulders,  and  flung  him  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  by  the 
opposite  wall.  Then,  kicking  the  door  shut,  the  giant, 
with  fists  clenched  and  face  distorted  with  rage,  tow- 
ered over  the  prostrate  man. 

**  You  miserable  sneaking  scoundrel !  "  cried  Braunt. 
"  So  that's  why  you  took  a  room  with  the  Scimminses 
— to  ferret  and  spy  on  me.  I've  seen  you  crawling  up 
these  stairs,  afraid  to  look  any  honest  man  in  the  face. 
Because  I  took  no  strike  pay  Gibbons  wants  to  know 
how  I  live,  does  he  ?  I'm  up  to  his  tricks.  You're 
Gibbons's  spy,  and  he  has  sent  you  to  live  with  that 
other  sneak,  Scimmins.  Scimmins  himself  was  afraid, 
for  he  knows  already  the  weight  of  my  hand.  Now," 
continued  Braunt,  rolling  up  his  sleeves,  *'  I'll  serve 
you  as  I  did  Scimmins.  I'll  throw  you  over  the  ban- 
isters, and  you  can  report  that  to  Gibbons,  and  tell 
him  to  come  himself  next  time,  and  I'll  break  every 
bone  in  his  body." 

Jessie  clung  to  her  father,  begging  him  in  tears  not 
to  hurt  the  poor  man.  Braunt  shook  her  off,  but  not 
unkindly. 

"  Sit  thee  down,  Jessie,  lass,  and  don't  worrit  me. 
I'll  but  drop  the  bag  o'  bones  on  the  stairs,  and  serve 
him  right  for  a  sneak." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


121 


Langly,  encouraged  by  his  antagonist's  change  of 
tone  in  speaking  to  the  girl,  ventured  to  falter  forth: 

*'  I  assure  you,  sir " 

'*  Don't  *  sir'  me,  you  hound,"  cried  Braunt,  turning 
fiercely  upon  him,  **  and  don't  dare  to  deny  you  are 
one  of  Gibbons's  spies.     I  caught  you  at  it,  remember." 

"  I'll  deny  nothing,  if  it  displeases  you  ;  but  I  never 
heard  of  Gibbons  in  my  life,  and  I'm  only  a  poor  or- 
ganist. I  stopped  at  the  door  on  hearing  the  har- 
monium. For  no  other  re  son,  I  assure  you.  I  know 
I  oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  and  I  suppose  I  am  a  sneak. 
I'll  never  do  it  again,  never,  if  you  will  excuse  me  this 
time." 

There  was  something  so  abject  in  the  musician's 
manner  that  Braunt's  resentment  was  increased  rather 
than  diminished  by  the  appeal.  He  had  a  big  man's 
contempt  for  anything  small  and  cringing. 

"  Oh,  you're  an  organist,  are  you  ?  Likely  story  ! 
Organists  don't  live  in  Garden  Court.  But  we'll  see, 
we'll  see.     Get  up." 

Langly  gathered  himself  together,  and  rose  un- 
steadily to  his  feet.  Every  movement  he  made  aug- 
mented the  other's  suspicion. 

"  Now,"  said  Braunt,  with  the  definite  air  of  a  man 
who  has  his  opponent  in  a  corner,  "  sit  down  at  the 
harmonium  and  play.     You're  an  organist,  remember." 

**Yes,"  protested  Langly,  "but  I  don't  know  that  I 
can  play  on  that  instrument  at  all.  I  play  a  church 
organ." 

"  An  organ's  an  organ,  whether  it  is  in  church  or  out. 
If  you  can  play  the  one,  you  can  play  the  other." 

The  young  man  hesitated,  and  was  nearly  lost. 
Braunt's  fingers  itched  to  get  at  him,  and  probably 
only  the  presence  of  the  girl  restrained  him  so  far. 

"  Have  you  any  music  ?  "  asked  Langly. 
No,  we  haven't.     She  plays  by  ear." 
Will  you  allow  me  to  go  up-stairs  and  bring  some 
sheet  music?" 

This  was  a  little  too  transparent. 


<( 


<< 


?;> 


I 


122 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


!  ; 


"  Now,  by  God ! "  cried  Braunt,  bringing  his  fist 
down  on  the  table.  "  Stand  there  chattering  another 
minute,  and  I'll  break  thy  neck  down  the  stair.  Sit 
thee  down,  Jessie,  an*  don't  interfere.  The  man  plays 
or  he  doesn't.  I  knew  he  was  a  liar,  an'  he  quakes 
there  because  it's  to  be  proven.  Now,  coward,  the 
organ  or  the  stairs — make  thy  choice  quickly." 

The  driven  musician  reluctantly  took  the  chair  be- 
fore the  instrument.  He  had  played  on  the  har- 
monium in  his  early  days,  and  knew  it  was  harsh  and 
reedy  at  the  best.  But  under  his  gentle  touch  the 
spirit  of  all  the  h  ^rmonies  seemed  to  rise  from  it,  and 
fill  the  squalid  room.  Braunt  stood  for  a  moment  with 
fallen  jaw,  his  hands  hanging  limply  by  his  sides ;  then 
he  sank  into  his  arm-chair.  Jessie  gazed  steadfastly, 
with  large  pathetic  eyes,  at  their  guest,  who  seemed 
himself  transformed,  all  the  lines  of  dismay  and  ap- 
prehension smoothed  away  from  his  face,  replaced  by 
an  absorbed  ecstacy,  oblivious  to  every  surrounding. 
He  played  harmony  after  harmony,  one  apparently 
suggesting  and  melting  into  another,  until  at  last  a 
minor  chord  carried  the  music  into  the  solemn  rhythm 
of  Chopin's  march ;  then  the  organ,  like  a  sentient 
creature,  began  to  sob  and  wail  for  the  dead.  The 
girl's  eyes,  never  moving  from  the  wizard  of  the  keys, 
filled  with  unshed  tears,  and  her  father  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

When  at  last  the  organist's  magic  fingers  slipped 
from  the  keys,  and  the  exultant  light  faded  from 
his  face  as  the  dying  music  merged  into  silence, 
Braunt  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Curse  me  for  a  brutish  clown  !  "  he  cried.  "  To 
think  that  I  mishandled  thee,  lad,  an'  thou  playest 
like  an  angel.     I  never  heard  music  before." 

He  laid  his  huge  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder 
gently  and  kindly,  although  the  youth,  hardly  yet 
awake  from  his  dream,  timidly  shrank  from  the  touch. 

"  Forgive  me,  lad  ?     I  misdoubt  I  hurt  thee." 

"  No,  no ;  it  is  all  nothing.     So  you  like  the  music  ?  " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


123 


)m 


o 

JSt 


ler 


? 


» 


"  The  music !  I  shall  never  forget  it ;  never.  That 
march  rings  in  my  head  all  day.  The  whole  world 
seems  tramping  to  it." 

The  young  man  for  the  first  time  looked  up  at  him, 
the  light  of  brotherhood  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  feel  it,  too,"  he  said,  '*  that  there  is  nothing 
around  us  but  good  music.  It  smooths  away  the 
ruder  sounds  of  earth,  or  uses  them  as  undertones — 
as — as  a  background.  I  sometimes  fancy  that  the 
gates  of  heaven  are  left  ajar,  and  we — a  few  of  us — are 
allowed  to  listen,  to  compensate  us  for  any  trouble  we 
have,  or  to  show  us  the  triviality  of  everything  else." 

The  young  man's  thin  face  flushed  in  confused 
shame  at  finding  himself  talking  thus  to  another  man, 
although  what  he  said  was  merely  the  substance  of 
many  a  former  soliloquy.  With  a  hasty  apologetic 
glance  at  the  girl,  who  regarded  him  like  one  in  a 
trance,  with  wide  unwinking  eyes,  Langly  continued 
hurriedly : 

**  The  march  is  a  difficult  one  and  should  not  be 
attempted  except  after  many  lessons.  I  shall  be 
pleased  to  teach  your  daughter,  if  you  will  let  me. 
She  has  a  correct  ear." 

Braunt  shook  his  head. 

"  We  have  no  money  for  music  lessons,"  he  said. 

**  I  have  very  little  myself.  I  am  poor,  and  there- 
tore  need  none,"  said  the  organist,  as  if  that  were  a 
logical  reason.  ''The  poor  should  help  the  poor.  If 
they  don't,  who  else  will  ?  The  poor  have  always  been 
kind  to  me."  He  thought  of  his  many  landladies, 
and  how  they  had  robbed  themselves  to  sustain  him, 
as  they  had  often  admitted,  little  thinking  he  would 
desert  them  one  by  one.  "  Aye,  and  the  rich  too," 
he  added,  remembering  the  hydraulic  motor  in  the 
church,  and  of  the  continued  endurance  of  the  authori- 
ties with  their  organist. 

"  Well,  lad,"  said  Braunt,  with  a  sigh,  "  come  in 
when  you  can,  and  if  newt  else,  you'll  be  sure  of  a 
hearty  northern  welcome." 


''f 


J 
i  J 


■V  111 


.f. 


i 


♦  f 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


I 


•  I 


Sartwell  prided  himself  on  being  a  man  who 
made  few  mistakes.  He  was  able  to  trace  an  event 
from  cause  to  effect  with  reaso  lable  certainty,  and 
this  slight  merit  made  him  perhaps  a  trifle  impatient 
with  others  who  could  not  be  credited  with  similar 
foresight,  as  his  own  wife  would  not  have  hesitated  to 
bear  witness.  It  would  probably  have  filled  that 
just  woman  with  subdued,  if  pardonable,  gratification 
had  she  known  how  wide  of  the  mark  her  husband  was 
in  his  estimate  of  the  result  on  the  strikers  of  the 
news  he  had  committed  to  the  care  of  Marsten.  Sart- 
well imagined  that  the  men,  in  their  fury  at  being  out- 
witted, would  turn  on  Gibbons  and  rend  him.  He 
believed  that  Gibbons  would  not  dare  tell  his  dupes, 
as  Sartwell  persisted  in  calling  them,  how  the  Union 
had  been  befooled  into  supporting  for  weeks  the 
bogus  workmen  whom  the  manager  had  flung  into  its 
credulous  lap.  After  wreaking  their  vengeance  on 
Gibbons  and  deposing  him,  they  must  return  to  the 
works,  reasoned  the  manager.  Their  money  was  gone, 
interest  in  the  strike  had  all  but  '^ied  out,  fresher 
events  had  compressed  it  into  a  two-line  item  in  the 
papers,  subscriptions  had  practically  ceased ;  what 
then  was  there  left  but  a  return  or  starvation,  that 
powerful  ally  of  masters  all  the  world  over? 

But  Sartwell  forgot  that  the  Englishman  knows 
how  to  starve.  No  Indian  ever  tightens  his  belt 
another  notch  with  grimmer  determination  to  com- 
press '  ger  than  an  Englishman  sets  his  teeth  and 
starves,  if  need  be.  He  has  starved  on  the  ice  near 
the  Pole,  and  under  the  burning  sun  in  the  desert. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


125 


pes, 

lion 

the 
its 
on 
the 
ne, 
her 
the 
hat 
hat 

Jows 

[belt 

:om- 

and 

lear 

;ert. 


He  has  met  famine  face  to  face  in  beleaguered  fort 
with  no  thought  of  surrender,  and  has  doled  with 
scrupulous  exactitude  the  insufficient  portions  of  food 
on  a  raft  in  mid-ocean.  The  poet  has  starved  in  his 
garret,  making  no  outcry,  and  the  world  has  said,  **  If 
we  had  only  known."  In  the  forests  and  on  the  plains, 
in  the  jungle  and  on  the  mountains,  and — perhaps 
worst  of  all — in  the  g  eat  cities,  amidst  plenty,  the  Eng- 
lishman has  shown  iie  knows  how  to  starve,  saying 
with  the  poet : 

*'  I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud." 

When  Gibbons  heard  what  Marsten  had  to  tell,  he 
promptly  said,  "  It  is  a  lie  "  ;  but  the  committee  looked 
one  at  the  other  with  apprehension  in  their  faces,  fear- 
ing it  was  the  truth. 

"The  qu  :Gtion  is,"  said  Marsten,  "  are  you  going  to 
let  the  men  know  this?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  I  find  it  is  true  ;  but  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it.  Perhaps  you  want  the  pleasure  of  being 
the  bearer  of  bad  news  to  the  men." 

"  I  intend  to  tell  them,  if  you  do  not." 

"  Of  course.     I'm  sorry  we  can't  gratify  you." 

The  committee  dismissed  Marsten,  and  went  into 
secret  session  ;  shortly  afterwards  separating,  to  meet 
again  in  the  evening  just  before  the  large  gathering  in 
the  Salvation  Hall.  In  the  interval,  Gibbons  and  his 
fellow-members  made  active  search  for  the  alleged 
fraudulent  workmen,  but  they  found  none  ;  the  birds 
had  flown.  It  was  evident  the  word  had  been  passed, 
and  that,  fearing  the  vengeance  of  the  legitimate  clai- 
mants to  the  Union  funds,  the  f  rmer  "  blacklegs  "  had 
taken  themselves  off,  out  of  the  reach  of  possible  harm. 

When  the  committee  met  for  the  second  time  that 
day,  the  members  were  divided  among  themselves  as 
to  the  advisability  of  taking  the  men  fully  into  their 
confidence.  Some  thought  it  best  to  break  the  dole- 
ful news  gradually  ;  others,  that  the  worst  should  be 
known  at  once.     Gibbons,  however,  said  there  was  in 


.1 


i 


126 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


•it. 


reality  no  choice  ;  the  men  must  be  told  the  whole 
truth,  for  if  the  commit. ee  tried  any  half  measures, 
Marsten  would  undoubtedly  rise  in  his  place  and  re- 
late what  Sartwell  had  told  him.  So  the  whole  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  truth  was  resolved  upon. 

When  Gibbons  faced  his  audience  that  night  in  the 
large  hall,  he  saw  he  had  to  deal  with  a  body  of  men 
whose  mood  was  totally  different  from  that  of  the 
crowd  which  light-heartedly  voted,  with  a  hurrah,  to 
go  on  strike.  There  was  now  little  jocularity  among 
the  men  ;  they  sat  in  their  places  in  sullen  silence.  A 
feeling  that  something  ominous  was  in  the  air  seemed 
to  pervade  the  hall,  and,  as  Gibbons  stepped  to  the 
front  of  the  platform,  he  felt  that  the  atmosphere  of 
the  place  was  against  him ;  that  he  had  to  proceed 
with  great  caution,  or  his  hold  on  the  men  was  lost. 
He  knew  he  was  a  good  speaker,  but  he  knew  also 
that  the  men  were  just  a  trifle  impatient  with  much 
talk  and  such  small  result  from  it  all. 

**  Combination,"  he  began,  '*  is  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  the  modern  conditions  of  labour.  A  work- 
ingman  of  to-day  may  be  likened  to  a  single  pipe  in  a 
large  organ.  He  can  sound  but  one  note.  He  spends 
his  life  doing  part  of  something.  He  does  not  begin 
any  article  of  commerce,  go  on  with  it,  and  finish  it, 
as  did  the  workmen  of  former  days  ;  he  merely  takes 
it  from  a  fellow- workman  who  has  put  a  touch  on  it, 
puts  his  own  touch  on  it,  and  passes  it  on  to  another; 
and  thus  the  article  travels  from  hand  to  hand  until  it 
reaches  the  finisher.  The  workman  of  to-day  is 
merely  a  small  cog  on  a  very  large  wheel,  and  so,  if  he 
does  not  combine  with  his  fellows,  he  is  helpless.  The 
workman  of  former  times  was  much  more  independent. 
He  began  his  work  and  completed  it.  If  he  was  a 
cooper,  he  made  the  whole  barrel,  hooping  it  and  head- 
ing it.  If  one  of  us  may  be  compared  to  a  single  pipe 
in  an  organ,  the  workman  of  yesterday  might  be  like- 
ened  to  a  flute,  on  which  a  whole  tune  could  be  played. 
Hg'" 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


127 


lit 


"Ah,  chuck  it!"  cried  a  disgusted   man  in  front. 
"  We  don't  want  no  philosophy  ;  we  wants  strike  pay 
or  master's  pay." 

"  'Ear,  'ear!  "  rang  through  the  hall ;  the  interrupter 
quite  evidently  voicing  the  sentiment  of  the  meeting. 
Gibbons  stood  for  a  second  or  two  looking  at  them. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  his  voice  like  a  trumpet  call,  "  I 
will  chuck  it.  This  is  not  the  time  for  philosophy,  as 
our  friend  said ;  it  is  the  time  to  act.  When  a  man 
strips  to  fight,  what  does  he  expect  ?  " 

"  A   d d  good  thrashing,"  was  the  unlooked-for 

reply. 

It  is  never  safe  for  an  orator  to  depend  on  his 
audience  for  answers  to  his  questions;  but  the  laugh 
that  went  up  showed  Gibbons  that  the  crowd  was  get- 
ting into  better  humour,  which  was  what  he  most  de- 
sired. 

"  When  an  Englishman  takes  off  his  coat  to  fight,  he 
asks  no  favour  from  his  opponent ;  but  he  does  expect 
fair  play,  and  if  Englishmen  are  the  onlookers  he  gets 
it,  whether  they  like  him  or  whether  they  don't.  He 
doesn't  expect  to  be  struck  below  the  belt ;  he  doesn't 
expect  to  be  strangled  on  the  ropes ;  he  doesn't  expect 
to  be  hit  when  he  is  down.  We  stripped  for  a  square 
and  fair  fight  with  Manager  Sartwell,  and  we  have 
fought  as  men  should.  We  have  broken  no  law ;  we 
have  raised  no  disturbance.  The  police,  always  eager 
enough  to  arrest  a  striker,  have  laid  hands  on  none  of 
us.  It  has  been  a  square,  stand-up,  honourable  fight. 
It  has  been  a  fair  fight  on  our  side,  and  I  am  proud  to 
have  been  connected  with  it.  But  in  this  struggle  I 
have  made  one  mist  ke.  I  made  the  mistake  of  think- 
ing we  were  fighting  an  honourable  opponent — with 
a  man  who  would  not  break  the  rules  of  the  ring.  I 
was  not  on  the  outlook  for  foul  play — for  trickery. 
Knowing  what  I  do  to-night,  I  say — and  I  am  ready 
to  take  the  consequences  of  my  words — that  Sartwell 
is  a  thief,  and  a  cowardly  thief  in  the  estimation  o' 
any  honest  nrian.    He  knew  that  the  life  of  our  fight 


•1 
% 


I 

I 


I* 


f 

■i 


128 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i      i 

I 


V 

t 


1 


was  our  money.  He  knew  that  starvation  for  the 
helpless  wives  and  families  of  our  men  was  his  most 
powerful  ally.  He  did  not  dare  to  break  in  and  steal 
our  money,  because  he  was  afraid  of  the  law,  but  he 
took  a  meaner  and  more  cowardly  way  of  accomplish- 
ing the  robbery.  He  appealed  to  the  cupidity  of  men 
out  of  work — poor  devils!  I  don't  blame  them  ;  they 
were  doubtless  starving — and  he  told  them  that  if 
they  masqueraded  as  employees  of  his,  the  Union 
would  take  them  in,  and  pay  them  wages,  as  long  as 
there  was  no  suspicion  aroused — that  is,  if  these  men 
kept  their  mouths  shut  they  could  draw  strike  pay. 
Much  as  I  have  always  despised  Sartwell,  I  did  not 
think  he  would  stoop  to  a  trick  like  this.  A  man  who 
robs  a  bank  has  some  courage,  but  a  man  who  tempts 
poverty-stricken  wretches  to  commit  the  crime,  while 
he  stands  safely  aside  and  reaps  the  benefit — there 
is  no  decent  word  in  the  language  to  characterize  him. 
Now,  men,  you  know  what  has  been  done,  and  the 
result  is  that  our  treasury  is  as  empty  as  if  Sartwell 
had  broken  into  it  with  a  jimmy.  The  manager  is 
waiting  expectantly  for  the  reward  of  his  burglary. 
He  will  throw  the  gates  of  the  works  open  to-morrow 
for  you  to  enter  and  complete  his  triumph.  The 
question  before  the  meeting  to-night  is — Are  you  going 
in  ?  " 

A  universal  shout  of,  "  Never!  We'll  starve  first !  ** 
rose  to  the  rafters  of  the  building. 

When  he  first  confronted  the  meeting  that  night, 
Gibbons  feared  he  could  not  rouse  the  men  from  their 
evident  coldness  toward  him  ;  as  the  speech  went  on, 
increasing  murmurs  among  the  men  and  at  length 
savage  outbursts  of  rage  showed  him  that  he  held 
them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  ;  at  the  end,  a  word 
from  him,  and  all  the  police  in  that  part  of  Lon- 
don could  not  have  saved  the  works  from  wreck  and 
flames. 

"  To  the  works  ! " 
era!  movement  in  response  to  it. 


was  the  cry,  and  there  was  d  gen- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


129 


5t!" 


,on- 
and 


"  No,  men  !  "  shouted  Gibbons,  his  stentorian  voice 
dominating  the  uproar.  "  Not  to  the  works.  Every 
man  home  to-night,  but  be  on  the  ground  in  the  morn- 
ing. We  must  not  play  into  the  enemy's  hands  by 
any  attempt  at  violence.  To-morrow  we  will  inter- 
cept Monkton  and  Hope,  and  demand  our  rights  from 
them  in  person.  Let  them  refuse  at  their  peril. 
We'll  have  no  more  dealings  with  Sartwell." 

There  was  a  cheer  at  this,  and  the  meeting  dis- 
banded quietly. 

Next  morning  the  men  were  out  in  force  at  the  still 
closv-d  gates,  and  there  were  angry  threats  against  the 
manager.  It  was  all  right  enough,  they  said,  for  Gib- 
bons to  counsel  moderation,  but  the  time  for  modera- 
tion was  past.  There  was  an  increased  body  of  police, 
who  kept  the  crowd  moving  as  much  as  was  possible, 
having  for  the  first  time  during  the  strike  a  most  diffi- 
cult task  to  perform.  The  strikers  were  in  ugly  tem- 
per, and  did  not  obey  orders  or  take  pushes  with  the 
equanimity  they  had  formerly  displayed  ;  but  the  police 
showed  great  forbearance,  and  evidently  had  instruc- 
tions not  to  use  their  truncheons  except  as  a  last  resort. 

Sartwell,  knowing  a  crisis  was  at  hand,  had  slept  in 
his  office,  and  the  ever-increasing  mob  hooted  when 
he  did  not  appear  at  his  usual  time. 

Gibbons,  by  word  and  action,  moving  about  every- 
where, tried  to  keep  his  men  in  hand  and  prevent  a 
conflict.  They  cheered  him,  but  paid  little  attention 
to  what  he  said. 

Shortly  after  ten  o'clock,  a  hansom  drove  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  mob,  and  was  received  with  a  chorus  of 
groans.  Gibbons  quickly  stepped  in  front  of  it  and 
addressed  the  occupant. 

"  Mr.  Hope "  he  began. 

"  Stand  back  there !  "  cried  the  officer  in  charge. 

"  Mr.  Hope,"  cried  Gibbons,  *'  I  want  ten  words 
with  you." 

Little  Mr.  Hope  shrank  into  a  corner  of  the  hansom, 
speechless,  his  face  as  white  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 


t? 


^1 

i 


130 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I 

i 
« 


*«   ■ 


1: 


"  Stand  back,  I  say  ! "  The  officer  pushed  Gibbons, 
striking  him  with  some  force  on  the  breast. 

"  Let  him  answer.  Will  you  speak  for  one  minute 
with  your  men — the  men  who  have  mc*de  you  rich?" 

**  Stand  back ! "  reiterated  the  officer,  pushing  him  a 
step  further. 

The  hansom  moved  inch  by  inch  nearer  the  gates. 
The  crowd  seethed  like  an  uneasy  sea,  but  every  man 
held  his  breath. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Hope.  Your  men  are  starving. 
They  ask  only " 

The  officer  pushed  the  speaker  back  once  more. 
Gibbons's  heel  caught  on  a  cobble-stone,  and  he  went 
down  backwards. 

The  crowd  broke  like  a  wave,  submerging  the  police 
for  a  moment,  flooding  the  street  as  if  a  dam  had 
given  way.  The  cabby  on  his  lofty  seat,  trying  to 
control  his  frightened  horse,  looked  like  a  castaway 
perched  on  a  buoy  in  an  angry  ocean.  He  made  the 
tactical  mistake  of  lashing  around  him  with  his  whip. 
In  an  instant  the  hansom  was  over  and  down,  with  a 
crash  of  splintering  glass.  The  police,  edging  to- 
gether, struck  right  and  left  with  a  fury  that  quite 
matched  the  less  disciplined  rage  of  the  mob.  The 
officers  fought  their  way  until  there  was  a  ring  around 
the  prostrate  cab;  two  of  them  picked  up  Mr.  Hope, 
who  was  helpless  with  fear  and  horror,  and  these  two, 
with  the  little  man  between  them,  surrounded  by  a 
squad  that  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder,  simply  clove 
their  way  through  the  dense  mass  to  the  gates,  where 
the  small  door  in  the  large  gate  was  quickly  opened 
and  shut,  with  Mr.  Hope  and  one  supporting  police- 
man inside. 

Gibbons,  his  hat  gone,  his  coat  in  rags  and  his  face 
smeared  with  blood,  a  wild  unkempt  figure,  rose  above 
the  struggling  mob,  and  stood  on  the  top  of  the  fallen 
cab. 

**  For  God's  sake,  men,"  he  screamed,  "  don't  resist 
the  police !     Fall  back !     Fall  back !  " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


131 


face 
ibove 
alien 

resist 


He  might  as  well  have  shouted  to  the  winds.  The 
police  laid  about  them  like  demons,  and  the  crowd 
was  rapidly  falling  back,  but  not  because  Gibbons  or- 
dered them  to.  In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time 
the  police  in  a  body  marched  down  the  street,  and  there 
was  none  to  oppose  them.  The  remnants  of  what  a 
few  minutes  before  seemed  an  irresistible  force,  lay  on 
the  pavement  and  groaned,  or  leaned  against  the  walls, 
the  more  seriously  wounded  to  be  taken  to  the  hos- 
pitals, the  others  to  the  police  station. 

In  spite  of  their  defeat  in  the  morning,  the  men 
gathered  once  more  about  the  works  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  threatening  crowd  was  even  greater  than  be- 
fore, because  the  evening  papers  had  spread  over 
London  startling  accounts  of  the  riot,  as  they  called  it, 
and  the  news  had  attracted  idlers  from  all  parts  of  the 
metropolis.  The  wildest  rumours  were  afloat:  the 
men  were  going  to  wreck  the  works ;  they  were 
going  to  loot  the  bread-shops  in  Light  Street ;  they 
had  armed  themselves  and  were  about  to  march 
on  Trafalgar  Square.  With  a  resolute  and  des- 
perate leader,  there  is  no  saying  what  they  might 
have  attempted ;  but  Gibbons,  who  had  put  another 
coat  on  his  back,  and  much  sticking-plaster  on  his 
face,  moved  about  counselling  moderation  and  re- 
spect for  the  law.  They  would  forfeit  public  sym- 
pathy, he  said,  by  resorting  to  violence ;  although 
some  of  his  hearers  growled  that  "  a  bleedin'  lot  o' 
good  "  public  sympathy  had  done  for  them.  "  What 
we  want,  and  what  we  mean  to  have,"  said  Gibbons, 
"  is  a  word  with  the  owners.  They  are  bound  to  come 
out  soon." 

They  did  come  out  ultimately  together,  and  two 
more  frightened  men  than  Monkton  and  Hc;^  e  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  find  in  all  the  land  that  day. 
They  were  surrounded  by  a  dozen  policemen,  whose 
resolute  demeanour  showed  they  were  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  The  gates  immediately  closed  behind  this  for- 
midable procession,  and  it  quickly  made  its  way   up 


I* 


132 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I" 


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'«  ■ . 


the  street,  the  crowd  jeering  and  groaning  as  it  passed 
through. 

"We've  got  nothing  against  them,"  shouted  one. 
"  Bring  out  Sartwell,  and  we'll  show  you  wot  for." 

Hatred  for  the  manager  rather  than  the  owners  was 
plainly  the  dominant  sentiment  of  the  gathering. 
They  cheered  the  remark,  and  gave  three  groans  for 
the  unpopular  manager. 

When  the  protected  men  disappeared,  the  vigilance 
of  the  force  relaxed,  and  the  crowd  surged  into  the 
gap  the  police  had  cleared.  With  the  masters  safe 
and  out  of  reach^  the  critical  moment  of  the  day 
seemed  to  have  passed.  The  police  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  know  that  the  real  resentment  of  the  mob 
was  not  directed  against  the  man  whose  cab  had  been 
overturned  that  morning. 

"  I  hope  Sartwell  won't  venture  out  to-night,**  said 
Marsten  to  Braunt.  "  It  will  take  more  than  twelve 
policemen  to  guard  him  if  he  does." 

"  He  has  some  sense,"  replied  Braunt,  "  and  will 
stay  where  he  is." 

Neither  Braunt  nor  Marsten  had  been  present  dur- 
ing the  morning's  battle ;  but  they,  like  many  others 
with  nothing  to  do,  had  come  in  the  afternoon. 

As  Braunt  spoke  the  small  door  in  the  gate  opened, 
and  Sartwell,  entirely  alone,  stepped  out.  He  had  no 
more  formidable  weapon  in  his  hand  than  his  cus- 
tomary slim  and  trim  umbrella.  His  silk  hat  was  as 
glossy  and  his  clothes  as  spick  and  span  as  if  he  were 
a  tailor's  model.  He  seemed  to  have  aged  a  trifle 
since  the  strike  began,  but  his  wiry  well-knit  body 
was  as  erect  as  ever,  and  in  his  eye  was  that  stern  look 
of  command  before  which,  at  one  time  or  another, 
every  man  in  his  employ  had  quailed. 

An  instantaneous  hush  fell  upon  the  crowd.  The 
cry  of  a  hawker  in  a  distant  street  was  heard.  Every 
man  knew  that  the  flinging  of  a  missile  or  the  uprais- 
ing of  an  arm  even,  would  be  as  a  spark  in  a  powder- 
mill.      Let  but  a  stroke   fall,  and   all   the  police  in 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


133 


London  could  not  have  saved  the  life  of  the  man 
walking  across  the  cleared  space  from  the  gates 
towards  the  crowd.  The  mass  of  silent  humanity  had 
but  to  move  forward,  and  Sartwell's  life  would  be 
crushed  out  on  the  paving-stones. 

Sartwell,  without  pause  and  without  hurry,  walked 
across  the  intervening  space  with  evident  confidence 
that  the  men  would  make  way  for  him.  There  was 
no  sign  of  fear  in  his  manner,  nor  on  the  other  hand 
was  there  any  trace  of  swaggering  authority  about 
him ;  but  there  was  in  the  glance  of  his  steely  eye 
and  the  poise  of  his  head  that  indefinable  something 
which  stamps  a  man  master, — which  commands  obedi- 
ence, instant  and  unquestioned. 

The  crowd  parted  before  him,  and  he  cast  no  look 
over  his  shoulder.  Habit  being  strong,  one  or  two 
raised  hand  to  forelock  as  he  passed,  getting  in  return 
the  same  curt  nod  that  had  always  acknowledged  such 
salutation.  The  human  ocean  parted  before  him  as 
did  the  Red  Sea  before  the  Hebrew  leader,  and  the 
manager  passed  through  as  unscathed. 

"  God  !  "  cried  Braunt,  towering  above  his  fellows 
and  shaking  his  fist  at  the  unoffending  sky,  "  I  have 
seen  in  my  life  one  brave  man." 


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CHAPTER  XIV. 

*'  Come  with  me,  Marsten,"  said  Braunt.  "  Let  us 
get  out  of  this  crowd.     I  want  a  word  with  you." 

The  two  made  their  way  to  a  quieter  street,  and 
walked  together  towards  Rose  Garden  Court,  talking 
as  they  went. 

"  This  foolish  strike  must  stop,"  began  the  York- 
shireman,  "and  now  is  the  time  to  stop  it.  The  men 
are  tired  of  it,  and  the  masters  are  sick  of  it ;  but 
neither  will  give  in,  so  a  way  must  be  found  out  of 
the  tangle,  and  you  are  the  man  to  find  the  way." 

*'How?  The  men  won't  throw  over  Gibbons,  and 
Sartwell  will  resign  before  he  will  confer  with  him. 
Remember  how  Gibbons  swayed  the  men  last  night,  in 
spite  of  the  grumbling  there  had  been  against  him 
before  the  meeting  opened." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But,  my  lad,  there  is  dissension  in 
the  other  camp  as  well  as  in  ours.  Sartwell's  coming 
out  as  he  d  1  just  now  was  as  much  defiance  of  his 
masters  as  of  his  men.  If  we  knew  the  truth  of  it, 
both  Monkton  and  Hope  wanted  him  to  come  with 
them  and  their  bodyguard.  He  refused.  From  what 
I  hear,  Mr.  Hope  was  so  frightened  this  morning  that 
he  could  not  have  spoken  if  his  life  had  depended 
upon  it.  There  must  have  been  some  hot  talk  be- 
tween the  three  to-day.  Sartwell  underestimates  the 
danger,  and  the  two  owners  perhaps  overestimate  it. 
What  I  am  sure  of  is,  that  there  is  division  between 
Sartwell  and  the  masters,  and  when  they  hear  that  he 
came  out  alone  to-night,  while  they  were  guarded  by 
twelve  policemen,  they'll  be  more  angry  than  ever,  if 
there's  any  spirit  in  either  of  them.     Now,  what  you 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


135 


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must  do  to-morrow  is  to  meet  either  Monkton  or 
Hope,  or  both  if  possible.  You'll  see  they  won't  look 
near  the  works  again  until  this  strike's  ended.  I'd  go 
to  Mr.  Hope  first  if  I  were  you.  He's  had  the  worst 
fright.  Tell  him  you  want  to  end  the  trouble,  and 
he'll  listen  willingly.  Very  likely  he  has  some  plan  of 
his  own  that  Sartwell  won't  let  him  try.  If  you  get 
him  to  promise  to  give  us  what  we  want  if  we  throw 
over  Gibbons,  we'll  spring  that  on  the  meeting,  and 
you'll  see,  if  we  work  it  right,  Gibbons  will  be  thrown 
over.     Then  there  will  be  no  trouble  with  Sartwell." 

"  It  seems  a  treacherous  thing  to  do,"  said  Marsten, 
with  some  hesitation. 

"  God's  truth,  lad,"  cried  Braunt,  with  some  im- 
patience, "haven't  they  been  treating  you  like  a  traitor 
ever  since  this  strike  began?  What's  the  difference, 
if  it  does  look  like  treachery?  Think  of  the  wives 
and  children  of  the  men,  if  not  of  the  men  themselves ; 
think  of  those  that  no  one  has  given  a  thought  to  all 
these  weeks,  the  women  workers  in  the  top  floor  of 
the  works.  They've  had  little  strike  pay ;  they  have 
no  vote  at  the  meetings,  and  they  have  to  suffer  and 
starve  when  they  are  willing  to  work.  Treachery? 
I'd  be  a  traitor  a  thousand  times  over  to  see  the 
works  going  again." 

*'  I'll  do  it,"  said  Marsten. 

The  young  man  had  no  money  to  waste  on  railway 
fare,  so  next  morning  early  he  set  his  face  to  the  west, 
and  trudged  along  the  Portsmouth  road  the  twelve 
miles'  distance  between  London  and  Surbiton. 

As  he  walked  up  the  beautifully  kept  drive  to  the 
Hope  mansion,  he  thought  he  saw  the  owner  among 
the  trees  at  the  rear,  pacing  very  dejectedly  up  and 
down  a  path.  Marsten  hesitated  a  moment,  but 
finally  decided  to  apply  formally  at  the  front  door. 
The  servant  looked  at  Him  witii  evident  suspicion,  and, 
after  learning  his  business,  promptly  returned,  saying 
Mr.  Hope  could  not  see  him.  The  door  was  shut 
upon  him,  but   Marsten  felt  sure  Mr.   Hope  had  not 


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THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


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been  consulted  in  the  matter;  so,  instead  of  going  out 
by  the  gate  he  had  entered,  he  went  around  the  house 
to  the  plantation  beyond,  and  there  came  upon  Mr. 
Hope,  who  was  much  alarmed  at  seeing  a  stranger 
suddenly  appear  before  him. 

**  I  am  one  of  your  workmen,  Mr.  Hope,"  began 
Marsten,  by  way  of  reassuring  the  little  man ;  but  his 
words  had  an  entirely  opposite  effect.  Mr.  Hope 
looked  wildly  to  right  and  left  of  him,  but,  seeing  no 
chance  of  escape,  resigned  himself,  with  a  deep  sigh,  to 
dynamite,  or  whatever  other  shape  this  particular  work- 
ingman's  arguments  might  take. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  faltered  the  employer  at  last. 

"  I  want  this  strike  to  end." 

**  Oh,  so  do  I,  so  do  I !  "  cried  Mr.  Hope,  almost  in 
tears. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Hope,  won't  you  allow  me  to  speak 
with  you  for  a  few  moments,  and  see  if  we  cannot 
find  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty  ?  " 

•*  Surely,  surely,"  replied  the  trembling  old  man, 
visibly  relieved  at  finding  his  former  employee  did 
not  intend  to  use  the  stout  stick,  which  he  carried  in 
his  hand,  for  the  purpose  of  a  personal  assault. 

"  Let  us  walk  a  little  further  from  the  house,  where 
we  can  talk  quietly.     Have  you  anything  to  propose  ?  " 

**  Well,  the  chief  trouble  seems  to  be  that  Mr.  Sart- 
well  will  not  meet  Gibbons." 

"  Ah,  Sartwell !  "  said  the  old  man,  as  if  whispering 
to  himself.  "  Sartwell  is  a  strong  man — a  strong  man ; 
difficult  to  persuade — difficult  to  persuade."  Then 
turning  suddenly  he  asked,  "You're  not  Gibbons,  are 
you  ?  " 

"  No,  my  name  is  Marsten.  Gibbons  was  the  man 
who  tried  to  speak  with  you  yesterday  at  the  gates." 

The  old  man  shudaered  at  the  recollection. 

"  There  were  so  many  there  I  did  not  see  any  one 
distinctly,  and  it  all  took  place  so  suddenly.  I  don't 
remember  Gibbons.     It  was  dreadful,  dreadful  1 " 

**  I  hope  you  were  not  hurt." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


137 


in 


'*  No,  no.  Merely  a  scratch  or  two.  Nothing  to 
speak  of.     Now,  what  can  be  done  about  the  strike?  " 

"  Would  you  be  prepared  to  grant  the  requests  of 
the  men,  if  they  were  to  throw  over  Gibbons,  and 
send  a  deputation  to  Mr.  Sartwell?" 

"  Oh,  willingly,  most  willingly.  I  don't  at  all  re- 
member what  it  is  the  men  want,  but  we'll  grant  it ; 
anything  to  stop  this  suicidal  straggle.  Does  Sart- 
well know  you  ?" 

**  Yes,  sir." 

"  Of  course  he  does.  He  knows  every  one  in  the 
works,  by  name  even.  A  wonderful  man — a  wonder- 
ful man  !  I  often  wish  I  had  more  influence  with  him. 
Now,  if  you  would  go  and  see  Mr.  Sartwell — he  lives 
at  Wimbledon  ;  it's  on  your  way  ;  I  asked  him  not 
to  go  to  the  works  to-day,  so  perhaps  you  will  find 
him  at  home — you  might  possibly  arrange  with  him 
about  receiving  a  deputation.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
best  not  to  tell  him  that  you've  seen  me — yes, 
I'm  sure  it's  best  not.  Then  I'll  speak  to  him  about 
granting  the  men's  demands.  I'll  put  my  foot  down; 
so  will  Monkton.  We'll  be  firm  with  him."  The  old 
man  glanced  timidly  over  his  shoulder.  "  We'll  say 
to  him  that  we've  stood  at  his  back  about  Gibbons, 
and  now  he  must  settle  at  once  with  the  men  when 
they've  abandoned  Gibbons.  Why  will  he  not  see 
Gibbons,  do  you  know?  Has  he  a  personal  dislike 
to  the  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  It  is  a  matter  of  principle  with  Mr.  Sart- 
well.    Gibbons  is  not  one  of  your  workmen." 

**  Ah  yes,  yes.  I  remember  now.  That's  exactly 
what  Sartwell  said.  Well,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  coming,  and  I  hope  these  awful  occurrences 
are  at  an  end.  Good-by !  There's  a  train  in  half  an 
hour  that  stops  at  Wimbledon." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hope,  but  I'm  on  foot  to-day.' 

"  Bless  me,  it's  a  long  distance  and  roundabout  by 
road.  The  train  will  get  you  there  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 


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THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


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Marsten  laughed. 

"  I  don't  mind  walking,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  for  a  few  minutes. 

**  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  walked  all 
the  way  from  London  this  morning!" 

"  It's  only  twelve  or  thirteen  miles." 

"  Dear  dear,  dear  dear  !  I  see,  I  see.  Yes,  Sartwell's 
right.  I'm  not  a  very  brilliant  man,  although  I  think 
one's  manager  should  not  say  so  before  one's  partner. 
Come  with  me  to  the  house  for  a  moment." 

"  I  think  I  should  be  off  now." 

"  No  no,  come  with  me.  I  won't  keep  you  long  ;  I 
won't  take  a  refusal.  I'm  going  to  put  my  foot  down, 
as  I  said.  I  have  had  too  little  self-assertion  in  the 
past.     Come  along." 

The  courageous  man  led  the  way  towards  his  dwell- 
ing, keeping  the  trees  between  himself  and  the  house 
as  much  as  possible  and  as  long  as  he  could.  He 
shuffled  hurriedly  across  the  open  space,  and  went 
gingerly  up  the  steps  at  the  back  of  the  building,  let- 
ting himself  into  a  wide  hall,  and  then  noiselessly  en- 
tered a  square  room  that  looked  out  upon  the  broad 
lawn  and  plantation  to  the  rear.  The  room  was  lined 
with  books ;  a  solid  oak  table  stood  in  the  centre, 
flanked  by  comfortable  armchairs.  Mr.  Hope  rang 
the  bell,  and  held  the  door  slightly  ajar. 

**  Is  there  any  cold  '  ^^^  down-stairs,  Susy  ? "  he 
whispered   to  the  un?^  jrson   through   the   open- 

ing. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  bring  up  enough  for  two  ;  some  pickles, 
bread  and  butter,  and  a  bit  of  cheese."  Then  turning 
to  Marsten  he  asked,  "  Will  you  drink  wine  or  beer?  " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Hope,"  said  the  young  man,  moisten- 
ing his  lips  and  speaking  with  difificulty,  "  I'm  not  in 
the  least  hungry." 

Which  was  not  true,  for  the  very  recital  of  the  arti- 
cles of  food  made  him  feel  so  faint  that  he  had  to  lean 
against  the  bookcase  for  support. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


139 


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"  Bring  a  bottle  of  beer,  please,"  whispered  the  host, 
softly  closing  the  door. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  he  said  to  Marsten.  "  Not 
hungry?  Of  course  you're  hungry  after  such  a  walk, 
no  matter  how  hearty  a  breakfast  you  took  before  you 
left." 

While  Marsten  ate,  Mr.  Hope  said  nothing,  but  sat 
listening  with  apparently  intense  anxiety.  Once  he 
rose  and  cautiously  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  breath- 
ing easier  when  this  was  done. 

''  Now,"  said  the  old  man,  when  Marsten  had  fin- 
ished his  meal,  "  you  must  go  by  rail  to  Wimbledon. 
Time  is  of  importance — time  is  of  importance.  Here 
is  a  little  money  for  expenses." 

"  I  cannot  take  money  from  you,  Mr.  Hope,  but 
thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense.  You  are  acting  for  me,  you 
know." 

**  No,  sir,  I  am  acting  for  the  men." 

"  Well,  it's  the  same  thing.  Benefit  one,  benefit  all. 
Come,  come,  I  insist.  I  put  down  my  foot.  Call  it 
wages,  if  you  like.  No  doubt  you  didn't  want  to 
strike." 

"  I  didn't  want  to,  but  I  struck." 

"  Same  thing,  same  thing.  You  must  take  the 
money." 

'*  I'd  much  rather  n.,t,  sir." 

Marsten  saw  the  anxiety  of  his  host,  who  acted  as  a 
man  might  over  whose  head  some  disaster  impended, 
and  it  weakened  his  resolution  not  to  take  the  money. 
He  understood  that  for  some  reason  Mr.  Hope  wanted 
him  to  take  the  money  and  be  gone. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  persisted  the  old  man,  eagerly.  **  We 
mustn't  let  trifles  stand  in  the  way  of  success." 

As  he  was  speaking,  an  imperious  voice  sounded  in 
the  hall — the  voice  of  a  woman.  A  sudden  pallour 
overspread  Mr.  Hope's  face,  that  reminded  M?rsten  of 
the  look  it  wore  when  the  twelve  policemen  escorted 
him  and  his  partner  through  the  crowd. 


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THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


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"  Here,  here,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  husky  whisper, 
"  take  the  money  and  say  nothing  about  it — nothing 
about  it." 

Marsten  took  the  money,  and  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket.     The  voice  in  the  hall  rang  out  again. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Hope,  Susan  ?"  it  asked. 

"  He  was  in  the  back  walk  a  few  minutes  ago,  mum." 

Firm  footsteps  passed  down  the  hall,  the  outside 
door  opened  and  shut,  and,  in  th*^  silence,  the  crunch 
on  the  gravel  was  distinctly  heai,^. 

The  anxiety  cleared  away  from  Mr.  Hope's  face  like 
the  passing  of  a  cloud,  and  a  faint  smile  hovered  about 
his  lips.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Marsten's 
presence  in  the  intensity  of  the  moment. 

''  Clever  girl,  Susy — so  I  was,  so  I  was,"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself. 

"  Good-by,  and  thank  you,  Mr.  Hope,"  said  Mars- 
ten,  rising.     "  I  will  go  at  once  and  see  Mr.  Sartwell." 

"  Yes,  yes.  In  a  moment — in  a  moment,"  said  the 
old  man,  with  a  glance  out  of  the  window.  His  voice 
sank  into  an  apologetic  tone  as  he  added,  as  if  asking 
a  favour:  "  Won't  you  take  some  money  with  you,  to 
be  given  anonymously — anonymously,  mind — to  the 
committee  for  the  men  ?  You  see,  the  negotiations 
may  take  a  few  days,  and  I  understand  they  are  badly 
off— badly  off." 

Even  Marsten  spoiled  at  this  suggestion. 

**  I  don't  see  how  that  could  be  managed.  I  shall 
have  to  tell  the  men  I  have  been  to  see  you,  or  at 
least  some  of  them,  and  they  might  niisunderstand. 
I  think,  perhaps " 

**  I  see — I  see.  There  is  a  difficulty,  of  course.  I 
shall  send  it  in  the  usual  way  to  the  papers.  That's 
the  best  plan." 

"To  the  papers  ?  "  said  Marsten,  astonished. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  in  alarm. 

"  I  didu't  intend  to  mention  that.  A?  you  say,  it 
might  be  misunderstood — misunderstood.  The  world 
seems  to  be  made  up  of  misunderstandings,  but  you'll 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


141 


not  say  anything  about  it,  will  you  ?  I  did  it  in  a 
roundabout  way,  so  as  not  to  cause  any  ill  feeling, 
under  the  name  of  '  Well-wisher.'  Merely  trifles,  you 
know  ;  trifles,  now  and  then.  Sartwell  said  the  strike 
would  end  in  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks.  He's  a  clever 
man,  Sartwell — a  clever  man — but  was  mistaken 
in  that.  We  all  make  mistakes  one  time  or  another. 
I  wouldn't  care  for  him  to  k.iuw,  you  see,  that  I  con- 
tributed anonymously  to  the  strike  fund ;  he  might 
think  it  prolonged  the  strike,  and  perhaps  it  did — 
perhaps  it  did  It  is  difficult  to  say  what  one's  duty 
is  in  a  case  like  this — very  difficult.  So  perhaps  it  is 
best  to  mention  this  to  no  one." 

"  I  shall  never  breathe  a  word  about  it,  Mr.  Hope." 
"  That's  right — that's  right.  I  am  very  glad  you 
came,  and  I'll  speak  to  Sartwell  about  you  when  we 
get  '\n  running  order  again.  Now  just  come  out  by 
the  front  door  this  time,  and  when  you  speak  to  Mr. 
Sartwell  be  careful  not  to  say  anything  Ihat  might 
appear  to  criticise  his  actions  in  any  way.  Don't  cross 
him — don't  cross  him.  The  easiest  way  is  generally 
the  best.  If  any  one  has  to  put  a  foot  down,  leave 
that  to  me — leave  that  to  me." 

The  manufacturer  himself  let  his  employee  out  by 
the  front  entrance,  and  the  young  man  walked  briskly 
to  Surbiton  Station. 


Its 

1^ 


'■^i 


I 

at's 


Il' 


CHAPTER  XV. 


1.  ^ 


5«  In  i  ■ 


'Kii 


When  young  Marsten  reached  the  walled-in  house 
at  Wimbledon,  he  found  that  Sartwell  had  indeed  paid 
little  attention  to  the  wishes  of  his  chief,  and  had  left 
for  the  works  at  his  usual  hour  in  the  morning.  Mr. 
Hope  had  evidently  not  put  his  foot  down  frmly 
enough  when  he  told  the  manager  not  to  go  t  j  his 
ofifice  next  day. 

Marsten  stood  hesitatingly  on  the  door-step ;  not 
knowing  exactly  the  next  best  thing  to  do.  After 
the  events  of  yesterday,  there  was  some  difficulty 
about  seeking  an  interview  with  the  manager  at  his 
office. 

'*  Mrs.  Sart well's  not  home  either,"  said  the  servant, 
noting  his  indecision  ;  "  but  Miss  Sartwell  is  in  the 
garden.     Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  her?  " 

Perhaps  !  The  young  man's  pulses  beat  faster  at 
the  mere  mention  of  her  name.  He  had  tried  to  con- 
vince himself  that  he  lingered  there  through  disap- 
pointment at  finding  the  manager  away  from  home ; 
but  he  knew  that  all  his  faculties  were  alert  to  catch 
sight  or  sound  of  her.  He  hoped  to  hear  her  voice  ; 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  her,  however  fleeting.  He  wanted 
nothing  so  much  on  earth  at  that  moment  as  to  speak 
with  her — to  touch  her  hand  ;  but  he  knew  that  if  he 
met  her,  and  the  meeting  came  to  her  father's  know- 
ledge, it  would  kindle  Sartwell's  fierce  resentment 
against  him,  and  undoubtedly  jeopardize  his  mission. 
Sartwell  would  see  in  his  visit  to  Wimbledon  nothing 
but  a  ruse  to  obtain  an  interview  with  the  girl. 
Braunt  had  trusted  him,  and  had  sent  him  off  with  a 
hearty   God-speed ;  the   fate  of  exasperated    men  on 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


143 


the  very  brink  of  disorder  might  depend  on  his  suc- 
cess. Women  and  children  might  starve  to  pay  for 
five  minutes'  delightful  talk  with  Edna  Sartwell.  No 
such  temptation  had  ever  confronted  him  before,  and 
he  put  it  away  from  him  with  a  faint  and  wavering 
hand. 

*'  No,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  was  Mr.  Sartwell  I 
wanted  to  see.     I  w^ill  call  upon  him  at  his  office." 

The  servant  closed  the  door  with  a  bang.  Surely 
he  did  not  need  to  take  all  that  time,  keeping  her 
standing  there,  to  say  "  No." 

The  smallness  of  a  word,  however,  bears  little  rela- 
tion to  the  difficulty  there  may  be  in  pronouncing  it. 
Yet  the  bang  of  the  door  resulting  from  his  hesitation 
brought  about  the  very  meeting  he  had  with  such  re- 
luctance resolved  to  forego.  It  is  perhaps  hardly 
complimentary  to  Sartwell  to  state  that,  when  his 
daughter  heard  the  door  shut  so  emphatically,  she 
thought  her  father  had  returned,  and  that  something 
had  gone  wrong.  Patience  was  not  among  Sartwell's 
virtues,  and  when  his  wife,  actuated  solely  by  a  strict 
sense  of  duty,  endeavoured  to  point  out  to  him  some 
of  his  numerous  failings,  the  man,  instead  of  being 
grateful,  often  terminated  a  conversation  intended  en- 
tirely for  his  own  good,  by  violently  slamming  the 
door  and  betaking  himself  to  the  breezy  common, 
where  a  person  may  walk  miles  without  going  twice 
over  the  same  path. 

The  girl  ran  towards  the  front  of  the  house,  on  hear- 
ing the  noisy  closing  of  the  door,  and  was  far  from 
being  reassured  when  she  recognized  Marstcn  almost 
at  the  gate.  That  something  had  happened  to  her 
father  instantly  flashed  across  her  mind,  She  fleetly 
overtook  the  young  man,  and  his  evident  agitation 
on  seeing  her  confirmed  her  fears. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Marsten,"  she  cried,  breathlessly,  "  is  there 
anything  wrong  ?  Has  there  been  more  trouble  at 
the  works  ?  " 

"No  ;  I  don't  think  so,"  he  stammered. 


'p 


/'i 


<1 


144 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


hi; 


1 1 

I  i 
I  Ml 

ill'- 


i  I  I. 


■|  V!,  I 


J 


"  I  feel  sure  something  is  amiss.  Tell  me,  tell  me. 
Don't  keep  me  in  suspense." 

'*  I  think  everything  is  all  right." 

"  Why  do  you  say  you  '  think  '  ?  Aren't  you  sure  ? 
You  have  come  from  the  works?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I've  just  come  from  Surbiton.  I 
wanted  to  speak  with  Mr.  Sartwell,  but  I  find  he's  not 
at  home." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl,  evidently  much  relieved.  Then 
she  flashed  a  bewilderingly  piercing  glance  at  him,  that 
vaguely  recalled  her  father  to  his  mind.  "  From  Sur- 
biton ?    You  came  from  Surbiton  just  now?  ' 

"  Yes,"  he  faltered. 

"  You  have  been  to  see  Mr.  Hope?" 

Marsten  was  undeniably  confused,  and  the  girl  saw 
it.     A  flush  of  anger  overspread  her  face. 

"  If  your  visit  was  a  secret  one,  of  course  I  don't 
expect  you  to  answer  my  question." 

"  It  was  not  intended  to  be  a  secret  visit,  but — but 
Mr.  Hope  asked  me  not  to  mention  it." 

"  Not  to  mention  it  to  my  father?" 

"  To  any  one." 

Edna  Sartwell  gazed  at  the  unhappy  young  man 
with  a  look  of  reproach  in  her  eyes,  and  also — alas  ! — a 
look  of  scorn. 

"  I  can  see  by  your  face,"  she  said,  indignantly, 
"  that  you  don't  want  my  father  to  know  that  you 
have  been  talking  to  Mr.  Hope  about  the  strike." 

**  My  face  does  not  tell  you  everything  I  think, 
Miss  Sartwell,"  replied  Marsten,  with  a  burst  of  cour- 
age that  astonished  himself.  "  I  saw  Mr.  Hope  about 
the  strike,  and  it  was  his  wish,  not  mine,  that  Mr. 
Sartwell  should  not  know  I  had  been  there.  But  I 
am  wrong  in  saying  it  was  not  mine.  I  don't  want 
Mr.  Sartwell  to  know  either." 

"  Well,  I  call  that  treachery,"  cried  the  girl,  her 
face  ablaze. 

"To  whom?"  asked  Marsten,  the  colour  leaving 
his  face  as  it  mounted  in  hers. 


H  -'4 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


145 


nt 


"  To  my  father." 

"It  may  be  treachery,  as  you  say,  but  not  to  Mr. 
Sartwell.  It  is  treachery  to  Gibbons,  perhaps,  for  he 
is  secretary  to  the  Union  and  leader  of  the  strike,  while 
I  am  a  member  of  the  Union  and  a  striker.  I  cannot 
be  treacherous  to  Mr.  Sartwell,  for  we  are  at  war  with 
each  other." 

'    **  You  were  not  at  war  with  him  when  you  thought 
he  could  do  you  a  favour,"  said  the  girl,  disdainfully. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  continued,  "  he  told  me  of  it — that 
night  I  was  last  at  the  ofifice.  He  refused  you,  and 
you  were  angry  then.  I  thought  at  tl:'  time  you  were 
merely  disappointed,  and  I  «poke  to  him  on  your 
behalf;  but  he  said  I  knew  nothing  about  you,  and 
I  see  I  didn't.  I  never  thought  you  were  a  person  who 
would  plot  behind  your  employer's  back." 

"  Miss  Sartwell,"  said  Marsten,  speaking  slowly, 
"you  are  entirely  wrong  in  your  opinion  of  me.  I 
feel  no  resentment  against  Mr.  Sartwell,  and  I  hope 
he  has  none  against  me.  You  spoke  of  treachery  just 
now  ;  my  treachery,  as  I  have  said,  is  against  Gib- 
bons. I  mean  to  depose  him,  if  I  can  get  enough  of 
the  men  to  vote  with  me.  Then  the  way  will  be 
smooth  for  Mr.  Sartwell  to  put  an  end  to  this  trouble, 
which  I  am  sure  is  causing  him  more  worry  than  per- 
haps any  one  else." 

"  But  why,  if  that  is  the  case,  don't  you  want  him 
to  know  this?  " 

"Don't  you  see  why?  It  is  so  that  he  won't  make 
the  same  mistake  that  you  have  made.  You  have 
kindly  allowed  me  to  explain  ;  Mr.  Sartwell  might  not 
have  waited  for  explanations." 

"I  have  not  been  very  kind,  have  I?"  said  Edna, 
contritely,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Please  for- 
give me.  Now  I  want  to  understand  all  about  this, 
so  come  with  me  into  the  garden,  where  we  sha'n't  be 
interrupted.     Standing   here   at  the   gate,  some   one 


jj 


<««> 

^'1 


if 


i 


1! 


/') 


r1 


146 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1 « 


i  i» 


'  k 


!?,,, 


'*\. 


might  call,  and  then  I  would  have  to  go  into  the 
house,  for  my  mother  has  gone  to  Surbiton  to  see 
how  Mr.  Hope  is.     Was  he  injured  yesterday?  " 

"  No.  I  will  go  with  you,  Miss  Sartwell,  on  one  con- 
dition." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  girl,  in  some  surprise. 
She  had  turned  to  go,  expecting  him  to  follow. 

"  That  you  will  not  tell  Mr.  Sartwell  you  have  been 
talking  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  promise  that.  I  tell  my  father 
everything." 

"  Very  well.  That  is  quite  right,  of  course  ;  but  in 
this  instance,  wl"""n  you  tell  him  you  talked  with  me, 
say  that  I  came  to  see  him ;  that  the  servant  said 
neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Sartwell  were  in,  and  asked  me 
if  I  would  see  you.  Tell  your  father  that  I  said  'No,* 
and  that  I  was  leaving  when  you  spoke  to  me." 

The  girl  looked  frankly  at  him — a  little  perplexed 
wrinkle  on  her  smooth  brow.     She  was  puzzled. 

"You  say  that  because  you  do  not  understand  him. 
He  wouldn't  mind  in  the  least  your  talking  with  me 
about  the  strike,  because  I  am  entirely  in  his  confi- 
dence ;  but  ]  1  might  not  like  it  if  he  knew  you  had 
been  to  see  Mr.  Hope." 

"  Exactly.  Now  don't  you  see  that  if  you  tell  him 
you  have  been  talking  with  me,  you  will  have  to  tell 
him  what  was  said  ?  He  will  learn  indirectly  that  I 
have  been  to  Surbiton,  and  will  undoubtedly  be 
angry,  the  more  so  when  he  hears  I  did  not  intend  to 
tell  him.  In  fact,  now  that  this  conversation  has  taken 
place,  I  shall  go  straight  to  him  and  tell  him  I  have 
talked  with  Mr.  Hope,  although  I  feel  sure  my  doing  so 
will  nullify  all  my  plans." 

**  And  this  simply  because  I  talked  with  you  for  a 
few  minutes?" 

"  Yes." 

The  girl  bent  her  perplexed  face  upon  the  ground, 
absent-mindedly  disturbing  the  gravel  on  the  walk  with 
the  tiny  toe  of  her  very  neat  boot.     The  young  man 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


H7 


tor  a 

lund, 
Iwith 
Iman 


devoured  her  with  his  eyes,  and  yearned  towards  her 
in  his  heart.  At  last  she  looked  suddenly  up  at  him 
with  a  wavering  smile. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  stopped  you,"  she  said.  *'  Perhaps 
you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  think  more  of  one  person 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  together.  My  father  is 
everything  to  me,  and  when  I  saw  you  I  was  afraid 
something  had  happened  to  him.  It  doesn't  seem 
right  that  I  should  keep  anything  from  him,  and  it 
doesn't  seem  right  that  I  should  put  anything  in  the 
way  of  a  quick  settlement.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do." 

When  did  a  woman  ever  waver  without  the  man  in 
the  case  taking  instant  advantage  of  her  indecision, 
turning  her  own  weapons  against  her? 

**  Don't  you  see,"  said  Marsten,  eagerly,  *'  that  Mr. 
Sartwell  has  already  as  much  on  his  mind  as  a  man 
should  bear  ?  Why,  then,  add  to  his  anxiety  by  telling 
him  that  I  have  been  here  or  at  Surbiton  ?  The  ex- 
planations which  seem  satisfactory  to  you  might  not 
be  satisfactory  to  him.  He  would  then  merely  worry 
himself  quite  unnecessarily." 

**  Do  you  think  he  would?" 

'*  Think  !     I  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  that  is  true.  Well,  then,  I  promise 
not  to  tell  him  of  your  visit  unless  he  asks  me  directly. 
Now  come  with  me ;  I  want  to  know  all  your  plans, 
and  what  Mr.  Hope  said.  I  can  perhaps  help  you 
with  a  suggestion  here  and  there;  for  I  certainly 
know  what  my  father  will  do,  and  what  he  won't  do, 
better  than  any  of  you." 

Edna  led  the  way  down  the  garden  path,  stopping 
at  last  where  some  chairs  were  scattered  under  a  wide- 
spreading  tree. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said.  "We  can  talk  here  entirely 
undisturbed." 

Marsten  sat  down  with  Edna  Sartwell  opposite  him 
in  the  still  seclusion  of  the  remotest  depths  of  that 
walled   garden.     He  would  not  ha.\  i  exchanged  his 


',1 


I-* 


t 

1,: 
/'1 


mmm 


148 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


H  I. 
• »  « 

.?! 

I  i  ■■ 
t  ■  r 

I 
I,  ' 


I 
'    '1      ' 


f 


K 


r-M 


place  for  one  in  Paradise,  and  he  thought  his  lucky 
stars  were  fighting  for  him.  But  it  is  fated  that  every 
man  must  pay  for  his  pleasure  sooner  or  later,  and 
Marsten  promptly  discovered  that  fate  required  of 
him  cash  down.  He  had  no  credit  in  the  bank  of  the 
gods. 

"  Now,  although  I  have  promised,"  began  Edna, 
"  I  am  sure  you  are  wrong  in  thinking  my  father 
would  be  displeased  if  he  knew  we  talked  over  the 
strike  together,  and  if  I  have  said  I  will  not  tell  him 
you  were  here,  it  is  not  because  I  fear  he  will  be  an- 
noyed at  that,  but  because  I  would  have  certainly  to 
tell  him  of  your  Surbiton  visit  as  well,  and,  as  you 
say,  he  might  not  think  you  were  justified  in  going  to 
Mr.  Hope,  no  matter  what  your  intentions  were.  But 
with  me  it  is  quite  different.  He  would  just  laugh  at 
our  discussing  the  situation,,  as  he  does  over  the  con- 
versations I  have  with  Mr.  Barnard  Hope  in  this  very 
garden." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Barnard  Hope  comes  here,  does  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  quite  often,  ever  since  the  strike  began.  He 
takes  the  greatest  possible  interest  in  the  condition  of 
the  workingman." 

"  Does  he  ?     It  is  very  much  to  his  credit." 

"  That's  what  I  say,  but  father  just  laughs  at  him. 
He  thinks  Mr.  Hope  is  a  good  deal  of  a — a " 

"  Of  a  fool,"  promptly  put  in  Marsten,  seeing  her 
hesitation. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Edna,  laughing  confidentially; 
"  although  that  is  putting  it  a  little  strongly,  and  is 
not  quite  what  I  intended  to  say.  But  I  don't  think 
so.  He  may  be  frivolous — or  rather  he  may  have 
been  frivolous,  but  that  was  before  he  came  to  recog- 
nize his  responsibilities.  I  think  him  a  very  earnest 
young  man,  and  he  is  exceedingly  humble  about  it, 
saying  that  he  hopes  his  earnestness  will  make  up  for 
any  lack  of  ability  that " 

**  Then  he  needs  all  the  earnestness  he  can  bring  to 
bear  upon  the  subject." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


149 


of 


her 

lly, 

is 
link 
lave 


it, 
for 

to 


"  Oh,  he  realizes  that,"  cried  Edna,  enthusiastically. 
"  If  there  is  only  some  one  to  point  him  the  way,  he 
says,  he  will  do  everything  that  lies  in  his  power  to 
assist  the  workingman  in  bettering  his  condition.  I 
have  told  him  that  his  own  vacillation  of  mind  is  his 
worst  enemy." 

**  He  vacillates,  does  he  ?  " 

"  Dreadfully.  He  will  leave  here  to-day,  for  instance, 
thoroughly  convinced  that  a  certain  course  of  action  is 
right.  To-morrow  he  will  return,  having  thought  over 
it,  and  he  has  ever  so  many  objections  that  he  is  not 
clear  about.  He  says — which  is  quite  true — that  it  is  a 
most  intricate  question  which  one  must  look  upon  in 
all  its  bearings ;  otherwise  mistakes  are  sure  to  be 
made." 

"  That  is  why  he  does  nothing,  I  suppose.  Then  he 
is  sure  of  not  making  any  mistake." 

Something  of  bitterness  in  the  young  man's  tone 
caused  the  girl  to  look  at  him  in  surprise.  Surely  two 
people  who  had  the  interests  of  the  workingman  so 
much  at  heart  as  both  Hope  and  Marsten  ought  to  be 
glad  of  any  help  one  could  give  the  other ;  yet  Marsten 
did  not  seem  to  relish  hearing  of  the  unselfish  and  lofty 
aims  of  Barney. 

"  Why  do  you  say  he  does  nothing?  " 

"  Well,  when  I  called  upon  him  before  the  strike 
began,  hoping  he  would  use  his  influence  to  avert 
trouble,  he  showed  no  desire  to  ameliorate  any  one's 
condition  but  his  own.  He  was  comfortable  and 
happy,  so  why  trouble  about  the  men  ?  *  Foolish 
beggars,'  he  called  them,  when  I  told  him  they  had 
voted  to  go  on  strike." 

"Now  you  see,"  cried  Edna,  gleefully,  "how  easy  it 
is,  as  you  yourself  said,  for  men  to  misunderstand 
each  other.  A  few  words  of  explanation  will  show 
you  how  you  have  thought  unjustly  of  Mr.  Barnard 
Hope.  He  did  intend  to  use  his  influence  on  behalf 
of  the  men,  and  came  all  the  way  from  Chelsea  here 
to  see  father  on   the  subject,  just  as  you  have  done 


ill 


J 


illi- 
cit ■ 


I 


f*"^ 
d 


ISO 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


n  , 


I  * 


J  * 


'  I 

V         '■ 
■«  Mr,     I 


to-day,  and  father  was  not  at  home,  just  as  he  is  not 
to-day.  Mr.  Hope  talked  it  over  with  mother  and 
me,  and  he  quite  agreed  with  us  that  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  father  if  there  was  any  interference.  It  was 
for  my  father's  sake  that  he  refused  to  take  part  in 
the  dispute." 

To  this  conclusive  defence  of  Barney,  the  young 
man  had  no  answer ;  but  he  was  saved  the  necessity  of 
a  reply,  for  both  talker  and  listener  were  startled  by  a 
shrill  voice  near  the  house,  calling  the  girl's  name. 

Edna  started  to  her  feet  in  alarm,  and  Marsten  also 
arose. 

"  That  is  my  step-mother  calling  me.  She  has  re- 
turned. I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  What  shall  we 
do  ?  She  mustn't  see  you  here,  and  yet  you  can't  get 
out  without  passing  the  house." 

"  I  can  go  over  the  wall.  I  wonder  who  lives  in 
the  next  house?" 

"  It  is  vacant,  but  the  wall  is  higl',  and  there  is 
broken  glass  on  the  top." 

"  I'll  have  a  try  for  it,  any  way." 

They  passed  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  dividing 
wall. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  you  can't  do  it,  and  you  will  cut 
your  hands." 

Marsten  pulled  off  his  coat ;  threw  it,  widespread, 
over  the  barbarous  broken  glass  ;  stepped  back  as  far 
as  the  shrubbery  would  allow  him,  and  took  a  run- 
ning jump,  catching  the  top  of  the  wall  with  his  hands 
where  the  coat  covered  the  glass.  Next  instant  he  was 
up,  putting  on  his  coat,  while  his  boots  crunched  the 
broken  bottles. 

"  You  haven't  cut  yourself  ?  I'm  so  glad.  Good- 
by ! "  she  whispered  up  at  him,  her  face  aglow  with 
excitement. 

"  One  moment,"  he  said,  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice. 
"  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  tell  you  my  plans." 

"  Oh,  please,  please  jump  down  ;  my  mother  may 
be  here  at  any  moment." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


151 


The  cry  of  "  Edna !  "  came  again  from  the  house. 

"  It's  all  right  yet,"  wL.spered  Marsten.  "  But  I 
must  know  what  you  think  of  my  plans.  I'll  be  here 
at  this  hour  to-morrow,  and  if  the  coast  is  clear  would 
you  throw  your  shawl,  or  a  ribbon,  or  anything,  on 
the  wall  wher  my  coat  was,  so  that  I  can  see  it  from 
this  side?" 

"  Do  go.  If  you  are  seen  it  will  spoil  everything. 
I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  to-morrow.  I'll  think 
over  it." 

"  Remember,  I  shall  be  on  this  side.  You  make 
everything  so  clear  that  I  must  consult  you  about 
this — it  is  very  important." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  promise,  but  you  are  risking  it  all  by 
remaining  there." 

Marsten  jumped  down  into  another  man*s  garden 
and  pushed  his  trespass  ruthlessly  over  and  through 
whatever  came  in  his  way,  until  he  reached  the  gate  and 
was  ont  once  more  on  the  public  way.  The  safety 
signal,  "  To  be  Let,"  was  in  the  windows  of  the  house 
and  on  a  board  above  the  high  wall. 

"  Ah,  Barney  Hope,"  he  muttered,  clenching  his  fist, 
"  all  the  good  things  of  this  world  are  not  for  you. 
Once  over  the  wall  is  worth  a  dozen  times  through 
the  gate.  I  fancy  I  need  instruction  on  my  duty  to 
my  employers  quite  as  much  as  you  require  having 
your  obligations  to  the  workingman  explained  to 
you." 


m 


■»  I. 


If? 

H 


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tf 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Edna,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here,  mother." 

"  You  heard  me  calling  you  ;  why  did  you  not  an- 
swer?" 

"  I  have  answered  by  coming  to  you.  How  is  Mr. 
Hope?" 

"  In  a  dreadfully  nervous  state.  He  thinks  he  is 
not  hurt,  but  I  am  sure  he  has  been  injured  internally, 
which  is  far  worse  than  outward  wounds,  as  I  told 
him.  He  seems  to  be  strung  on  wires,  and  jumps 
every  time  his  wife  makes  the  most  casual  remark  to 
him.  I  advised  him  to  see  a  physician,  and  know  the 
worst  at  once.  And  Mrs.  Hope  tells  me  he  acts  very 
queerly.  He  took  scarcely  any  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing? yet  before  lunch  he  ordered  into  the  study  a 
simply  enormous  meal,  and  devoured  it  all  alone." 

"  Perhaps  that  was  because  he  had  taken  so  little 
breakfast." 

"  No,  child,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about.  There  are  some  things  Mr.  Hope  can  never 
touch  without  being  ill  afterwards.  Mrs.  Hope  is  very 
careful  of  his  diet.  There's  pickles,  for  instance ;  he 
hasn't  touched  a  pickle  for  sixteen  years,  yet  to-day  he 
consumed  a  great  (]uantity,  and  drank  a  whole  bottle 
of  beer,  besides  roast  beef  and  cheese,  and  ever  so 
many  other  things.  Mrs.  Hope,  poor  woman,  is  sit- 
ting with  folded  hands,  waiting  for  him  to  die.  I 
never  saw  such  a  look  of  heavenly  resignation  on  any 
human  face  before." 

"As  on  Mr.  Hope's?" 


ili 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


153 


[le 


cry 
Ihe 

le 

:le 

ISO 
5lt- 
I 

iny 


"  Edna,  don't  be  pert.  You  know  very  well  I  mean 
Mrs.  Hope." 

"  Really,  mother,  I  didn't.  I  thought  perhaps  Mr. 
Hope  was  resigned.     What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  it  hasn't  hurt  him  in  the  least,  but  Mrs. 
Hope  merely  sighs  and  shakes  her  head.  She  knows 
what  is  in  store  for  him." 

"  I'll  warrant  the  poor  man  was  just  hungry,  and 
tired  of  too  much  dieting.    I  hope  he  enjoyed  his  meal." 

"  Edna,  you  have  too  little  experience,  and,  much  as 
I  regret  to  say  it,  too  little  sense  to  understand  what 
it  means.  Mr.  Hope's  digestive  organs  have  always 
been  weak — always.  If  it  had  not  been  for  his  wife's 
anxious  care,  he  would  have  been  dead  long  ago.  She 
allowed  him  out  of  her  sight  for  a  few  minutes  this 
morning,  and  refused  all  callers,  except  myself  and 
one  or  two  of  her  own  very  dearest  friends,  and  you 
see  what  happened.  She  fears  that  the  excitement  of 
yesterday  has  completely  ruined  his  nerves,  and  that 
he  doesn't  know  what  he  is  doing,  although  he  insists 
he  feels  as  well  as  ever  he  did  ;  but  I  said  to  Mrs.  Hope 
I  would  have  the  best  medical  advice  at  once  if  I  were 
in  her  place.  Who  was  it  called  here  to  see  your 
father  while  I  was  away  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  in  the  house  since  you  left." 

"  What !  In  the  garden  all  this  time  !  Edna,  when 
will  you  learn  to  have  some  responsibility  ?  How  can 
you  expect  the  maids  to  do  their  duty  if  you  neglect 
yours  and  never  look  after  them?  " 

"  You  train  them  so  well,  mother,  that  I  did  not 
think  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  look  after  them  while 
you  were  away." 

"  Yes,  I  train  them,  and,  I  hope,  I  do  my  duty  towards 
them  ;  but  you  also  have  duties  to  perform,  although 
you  think  so  lightly  of  them.  You  forget  that  for 
every  hour  idled  away  you  will  have  to  give  an  ac- 
count on  the  Last  Great  Day." 

"  I  have  not  been  idling,  and,  even  if  I  had,  one 
can't  be  always  thinking  of  the  Last  Great  Day," 


111!'*: 


154 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1  . 


Hi 


I 

il 

r\ 
II 

1! 


i  I 


They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  drawing-room, 
and  Mrs.  Sartwell  sat  down,  gazing  with  chastened 
severity  at  her  step-daughter. 

"  Edna,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "  I  implore  you  not  to 
give  way  to  flippancy.  That  is  exactly  the  way  your 
father  talks,  and  while,  let  us  hope,  it  will  be  forgiven 
him,  it  ill  becomes  one  of  your  years  to  take  that 
tone.  Your  father  little  thinks  what  trouble  he  is 
storing  for  himself  in  his  training  of  you,  and,  if  I  told 
him  you  were  deceiving  him,  he  would  not  believe  it. 
But  some  day,  alas  !  his  eyes  will  be  opened." 

"  How  am  I  deceiving  him  ?  "  cried  Edna,  a  quick 
pallour  coming  into  her  face. 

Her  step-mother  mournfully  shook  her  head,  and 
sighed. 

"  If  your  own  heart  does  not  tell  you,  then  perhpps 
I  should  be  silent.  You  have  his  wicked  temper,  my 
poor  child.  Your  face  is  pale  with  anger  just  because 
I  have  mildly  tried  to  show  you  the  right  path." 

"You  have  not  shown  me  the  right  path.  You 
have  said  I  am  deceiving  my  father,  and  I  ask  what 
you  mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sartwell  smiled  gently,  if  sadly. 

"  How  like  !  how  like  !  I  can  almost  fancy  it  is  your 
father  speaking  with  your  voice." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  of  that.  You  don't  often  say 
complimentary  things  to  me." 

"  That  is  more  of  your  pertness.  You  know  very 
well  I  don't  compliment  you  when  I  say  you  are  like 
your  father.  Far  from  it.  But  a  day  will  come  when 
even  his  eyes  will  be  opened.     Yes,  indeed." 

"  You  mean  that  his  eyes  will  be  opened  to  my 
deceit,  but  you  have  not  told  me  how  I  am  deceiving 
him." 

"  You  deceive  him  because  you  take  very  good  care, 
when  in  his  presence,  not  to  show  him  the  worst  side 
of  your  character.  Oh,  dear  no,  you  take  good  care 
of  that !  Butter  wouldn't  melt  in  your  mouth  when 
he  is  here.     But  he'll  find  you  out  some  day,  to  his 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


155 


sorrow, 
you  will 


Icare, 
side 
care 
^hen 
his 


Wait  till  your  stubborn  wills  cross,  and  then 
each  know  the  other.  Of  course,  now  it  is 
all  smooth  and  pleasant,  but  that  is  because  you  don't 
demand  to  know  what  he  means,  and  do  not  tell  him 
that  you  can't  be  bothered  about  the  Last  Great  Day." 

"  Father  never  threatens  me  with  the  Judgment,  as 
you  so  often  do,  nor  does  he  make  accusations  against 
me,  and  so  I  don't  need  to  ask  'vhat  he  means.  I  sup- 
pose I  am  wicked,"  continued  the  girl,  almost  in  tears, 
"  but  you  say  things  that  seem  always  to  bring  out 
the  bad  side  of  my  character." 

"  You  are  too  impulsive,"  said  the  lady,  smoothly. 
**  You  are  first  impenitently  impudent  to  me,  and 
then  you  say  you  have  a  bad  character,  which  I  never 
asserted.     You  are  not  worse  than  your  father." 

"Worse?     I  only  wish  I  were  half  as  good." 

"  Ah,  that's  because  you  don't  know  him  any  better 
than  he  knows  you.  You  think  he  takes  you  entirely 
into  his  confidence,  but  he  does  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Why  did  he  so  carefully  carry  away  the  newspaper 
with  him  this  morning  ?  " 

**  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Why  shouldn't  he  ?  it's 
his  own." 

"His  own, — yes!  but  he  never  did  it  before.  He 
took  it  away  the  better  to  deceive  his  wife  and 
daughter, — that's  why.  So  that  we  shouldn't  know 
how  he  braved  and  defied  the  men  yesterday.  Oh,  I 
can  see  him  !  It  was  just  the  kind  of  thing  that  would 
gratify  his  worldly  pride." 

"  Oh,  what  happened,  mother  ? "  cried  the  girl, 
breathless  with  anxiety. 

"  I  thought  he  didn't  tell  you,  and  I  suppose  he  did 
not  mention  that  poor  Mr.  Hope,  and  Mr.  Monkton 
too,  begged  and  implored  him  not  to  go  to  the  works 
to-day, — yes,  almost  on  their  '  ended  knees ;  and  he 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  their  wishes — and 
they  his  employers !     If  for  no  other  reason  he " 

"  But  tell  me  what  he  did  ?  How  did  he  defy  the 
men  ?  " 


'M 


I  ' 


it 


mmmm 


1f  ,* 
k 

■■I   .if, 


'it       ^^ 

'If'       li 


■iti 


Ml 

■»'■ 


•Hi 


IM| 

I 


156 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


^*  Why  do  you  not  allow  me  to  finish  what  I  am 
saying  ?     Why  are  you  so  impatient  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  my  father.  Is  that  not  reason 
enough  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  poor  child,  yes,"  murmured  Mrs.  Sartwell, 
in  mournful  cadence,  "  that  is  reason  enough.  Like 
father,  like  daughter.  It  is  perhaps  too  much  for 
me  to  expect  patience  from  you,  when  ke  has  so 
little." 

"  That  is  not  my  meaning,  but  never  mind.  Please 
tell  me  if  he  was  in  danger." 

"  We  are  all  of  us  in  danger  every  moment  of  our 
lives,  and  saved  from  it  by  merciful  interposition  and 
not  by  any  virtue  of  our  puny  efforts.  How  often, 
how  often  have  I  made  my  poor  endeavour  to  impress 
this  great  truth  on  your  father's  mind,  only  to  be  met 
with  scorn  and  scoffing,  as  if  scorn  and  scoffing  would 

avail  on  the  Last Why  are  you  acting  so,  Edna? 

You  pace  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  way  that  is — I 
regret  to  say  it — most  unladylike.  You  shouldn't 
spring  from  your  chair  in  that  abrupt  manner.  I  say 
that  scoffing  will  not  avail.  Surely  I  have  a  right  to 
make  the  statement  in  my  own  house  !  When  I  said 
to  your  father  this  very  morning  that  he  should  not 
boast  in  his  own  strength,  which  is  but  fleeting,  but 
should  put  his  trust  in  a  higher  power,  he  answered 
that  he  did — the  police  were  on  the  ground.  What  is 
that  but  scoffing  ?  He  knew  I  was  not  referring  to 
the  police." 

Edna  had  left  the  room  before  her  step-mother  com- 
pleted the  last  sentence,  and  when  the  much-tried 
woman,  arising  with  a  weary  sigh,  followed  the  girl 
into  the  hall,  she  found  herself  confronted  with 
another  domestic  tribulation.  Edna  had  her  hat  on, 
and  was  clasping  her  cloak. 

**  Where  are  you  going  ? "  asked  her  amazed  step- 
mother. 

"To  London." 

"  To  London  !     Does  your  father  know  of  this?  ** 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


157 


"  He  will.  I  am  going  to  take  a  hansom  from  the 
station  to  the  works." 

"  What !     Drive  through  that  howling  mob  ?  " 

"The  howling  mob  won't  hurt  me." 

"  Child,  you  are  crazy !  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this?" 

"  The  meaning  is  that  I  am  going  to  hear  what  dan- 
ger my  father  was  in  yesterday,  and  to  be  with  him  if 
he  is  in  danger  to-day." 

The  good  woman  held  up  her  hands  in  helpless  dis- 
may. Was  ever  human  being,  anxious  to  do  her  duty 
to  all,  harassed  by  two  such  ungovernable  persons 
since  the  world  began  ? — she  asked  herself.  But  for 
once  she  made  exactly  the  remark  to  cope  with  the 
situation. 

**  The  time  has  come  sooner  than  I  expected.  Your 
father  has  forbidden  you  to  go  to  the  office,  and,  when 
he  sees  that  you  have  disobeyed  him  at  such  a  time  as 
this,  he  will  be  furious.  Then  you  will  know  what  / 
have  to  stand." 

The  impetuous  girl  paused  in  her  preparations. 

**  Then  why  do  you  exasperate  me  beyond  endur- 
ance by  refusing  to  tell  me  what  happened  ?  " 

"  I  refuse !  I  refuse  you  nothing.  Better  would 
it  have  been  for  me  if  I  had  when  you  were  younger ; 
then  you  would  think  twice  before  you  flung  all  obedi- 
ence to  the  winds.  You  have  only  to  ask  what  you 
want  to  know,  and  listen  with  patience  while  it  is  told 
to  you." 

"  I  have  asked  you  a  dozen  times." 

"  How  you  do  exaggerate !  I  call  it  exaggeration, 
although  I  might  perhaps  be  forgiven  for  using  a 
harsher  term.     Exactitude  of  statement  is  more " 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  or  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  just  said  that  I  will  tell  you  anything? 
What  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  Y'^  .ir  own  ridiculous 
conduct  has  driven  everything  out  of  my  head." 

"You  said  my  father  had  defied  the  men  and  was 
in  danger  yesterday." 


:  i 


fi 


.M 


j,k'<: 


158 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


»  I- 


1   'I 
I 


■I  .If, 

I ., 


it 


If' 


1 1  i 

,'■■*• 

ni: 

1' 

(  1 

<  > 


")  i 


"II 

'1> 


"'If. 


"  Oh,  that !  After  seeing  the  police  guard  Mr.  Hope 
and  Mr.  Monkton  through  the  lawless  mob,  what  must 
your  father  do  but  show  how  brave  he  was  compared 
with  his  superiors.  He  came  out  of  the  gates  alone, 
and  walked  through  the  mob." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  say  anything." 

"  Then  how  did  he  defy  the  men  ?  "  * 

"  Good  gracious,  child,  how  stupid  you  are  !  When 
men  are  driven  to  extremities,  surely  his  coming  out 
among  them — and  he  the  cause  of  it  all — was  defiance 
enough.  But  a  full  account  is  in  the  paper  I  bought  at 
the  station ;  't  is  on  the  hall  table,  where  you  would 
have  seen  it  if  you  could  have  kept  your  temper. 
Read  it  if  you  want  to.  It  is  not  me  you  are  disobey- 
ing when  you  do  so.  Remember,  it  was  your  father 
who  did  not  want  you  to  see  the  paper." 

The  day  proved  a  long  one  to  Edna  Sartwell,  and, 
when  her  father  did  not  return  at  the  usual  hour,  she 
became  more  and  more  anxious.  Her  step-mother 
said  nothing  about  the  delay,  as  the  hours  passed,  but 
began  to  assume  that  air  of  patient  resignation  which 
became  her  so  well.  Dinner  was  served  to  the  minute, 
and  at  the  accustomed  moment  the  table  was  cleared. 
Once  or  twice  she  chided  Edna  for  her  restlessness,  and 
regretted  she  had  to  speak,  but  was  compelled  to  do 
so  because  the  good  example  she  herself  set  was  so 
palpably  unappreciated.     At  last  she  said  : 

"  Edna,  go  to  bed.     I  will  wait  up  for  your  father." 

"  He  is  sure  to  be  home  soon.  Please  let  me  wait 
until  he  comes." 

T'^ere  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  1  don't  wish  to  ask  you  twice,  Edna.  You  heard 
what  I  said." 

"  Please  do  not  send  me  away  until  father  comes. 
I  am  so  anxious !  Let  me  sit  up  instead  of  you.  I 
can't  sleep  if  I  do  go  to  bed.  Won't  you  let  me  sit 
up  in  your  place  ?  " 

The  martyred  look  came  into  the  thin  face  of  her 


J      !■ 


THE  MUTABLE  MA-NY. 


159 


♦» 


her 


step-mother — the  look  which  told  of  trials  uncom- 
plainingly borne. 

"  I  have  always  sat  up  for  your  father,  and  always 
shall,  so  long  as  we  are  spared  to  each  other.  For  the 
third  time  I  ask  you  to  go  to  bed." 

The  girl  sat  where  she  was,  the  red  flag  of  rebellion 
in  her  cheek.  The  glint  of  suppressed  anger  in  Mrs. 
Sartwell's  eye  showed  that  a  point  had  been  reached 
where  one  or  the  other  of  them  had  to  leave  the  room 
defeated.  The  elder  woman  exhibited  her  forbearance 
by  speaking  in  the  same  level  tone  throughout. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  obey  me,  Edna  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not."     .; 

Mrs.  Sartwell  went  on  with  her  sewing,  a  little 
straighter  in  the  back,  perhaps,  but  not  otherwise 
visibly  disturbed  by  the  unjustifiable  conduct  of  the 
girl.  In  each  instance  after  Edna's  prompt  replies 
there  was  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  Edna,  you  permitted 
yourself  to  speak  to  me  and  act  towards  me  in  a 
manner  which  I  hoped  you  would  regret  when  op- 
portunity for  reflection  was  given.  I  expected  some 
expression  of  contrition  from  you.  Have  you  reflected, 
Edna?" 

"  Yes." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  threaded  her  needle  with  almost 
excessive  deliberation. 

"  And  what  has  been  the  result  ?  " 

"  That  I  was  pleased  to  think  I  had  said  nothing 
harsher  than  I  did." 

The  ticking  of  the  tall  clock  on  the  landing  echoed 
through  the  house.  Edna  listened  intently  for  a  quick, 
firm  step  on  the  gravel,  but  all  outside  was  silent. 

"  Added  to  your — if  I  use  the  word  insolence,  it  is 
because  I  can  think  of  no  other  term  with  which  to 
characterize  the  remarks  you  have  addressed  to  me — 
added  to  your  insolence  is  now  disobedience.  If  I 
am  overstating  the  case,  no  one  can  be  more  pleased 
than  I  to  be  corrected,  in  the  proper  spirit." 


*»* 


if 


i6o 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'1  f  f 


Xktt 


"  I  have  no  desire  to  correct  you." 

After  nipping  the  thread  with  her  teeth  and  draw- 
ing a  deep,  wavering  sigh,  Mrs.  Sartwell  said : 

*'  In  every  household,  Edna,  some  one  must  com- 
mand and  others  obey.  When  my  time  comes  I  shall 
gladly  lay  down  the  burden  of  what  poor  authority  is 
delegated  to  me,  but  until  that  time  comes  I  shall  be 
mistress  in  my  own  house.  Your  father  freely,  and  of 
his  own  choice,  gave  me  that  authority,  and  he,  not 
you,  is  the  proper  person  to  revoke  it,  if  it  pleases  him 
to  do  so.  I  shall  therefore  say  nothing  more  until 
he  returns.  Then  he  must  choose  between  us.  If 
you  are  to  be  mistress  here,  I  shall  bow  my  head  with- 
out a  word,  and  leave  this  house,  praying  that  peace 
and  every  blessing  may  remain  within  it." 

Something  of  the  self-sacrificing  resignation  breath- 
ing through  these  measured  words  must  have  touched 
the  hardened  heart  of  the  girl,  for  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  began  to  weep, — a  certain  sign  of 
defeat.  But  she  evidently  determined  not  to  give  her 
antagonist  the  satisfaction  fairly  won  by  so  admirable 
a  dissertation  upon  the  correct  conduct  of  a  well- 
ordered  household. 

**  It  is  always  poor  father  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  With  all 
the  trouble  and  anxiety  already  on  his  mind,  he  must 
be  worried  when  he  comes  home  by  our  miserable 
squabbles." 

**  I  never  squabble,  Edna.  Neither  do  I  ever  use 
such  an  undignified  word.  Where  you  got  it,  I'm 
sure  I  do  not  know,  but  it  was  not  from  me.  If  you 
wish  your  father  not  to  be  troubled,  then  you  should 
act  so  that  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  appeal  to  him. 
It  is  no  wish  of  mine  to  add  to  his  cares, — far  other- 
wise.    Are  you  ready  to  obey  me  now  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  girl  rose  and  went  rather  uncertainly  to  the 
door,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  You  have  not  kissed  me  good-night,  Edna." 

She  kissed  her  step-mother  on  the  cheek  and  went 


I  ( 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i6i 


jr  use 
I'm 
|f  you 

lould 

him. 

>ther- 


tlie 


Iwent 


to  her  room,  flinging  herself,  dressed  as  she  was,  on 
her  bed,  sobbing.  Yet  she  listened  for  that  step  on  the 
gravel  which  did  not  come.  At  last  she  rose,  arranged 
her  hair  for  the  night,  and  bathed  her  face,  so  that  her 
father,  if  he  came  home  and  saw  her,  should  not  know 
she  had  been  crying.  Wrapping  herself  in  her  dress- 
ing-gown, she  sat  by  the  window  and  listened  intently 
and  anxiously.  It  w^s  after  midnight  when  the  last 
train  came  in,  and  some  minutes  later  her  quick  ear 
heard  the  long-expected  step  far  down  the  street ;  but  it 
was  not  the  quick,  nervous  tread  she  was  accustomed 
to.  It  was  the  step  of  a  tired  man.  She  thought  of 
softly  calling  to  him  from  the  window,  but  did  not. 
Holding  her  door  ajar,  she  heard  the  murmur  of  her 
step-mother's  voice  and  occasionally  the  shorter,  gruffer 
note  of  her  father's  evidently  monosyllabic  replies. 
After  what  seemed  an  interminable  time,  her  step- 
mother came  up  alone,  and  the  door  of  her  room 
closed. 

Edna,  holding  her  breath,  slipped  noiselessly  out  of 
her  room  and  down  the  stairs.  The  steps  were  kind 
to  her,  and  did  not  creak.  She  opened  the  door  of 
the  dining-room,  and  appeared  as  silently  as  if  she 
were  a  ghost.  Her  father  started  from  his  chair,  and 
it  required  all  his  habitual  self-command  to  repress 
the  exclamation  that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  Heaven  help  us,  my  dearest  girl ;  do  you  want  to 
frighten  your  old  father  out  of  what  little  wits  he  has 
left  him  ?  "  he  whispered.     "  Why  aren't  you  asleep  ?  " 

She  gently  closed  the  door,  then  ran  to  him,  and 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

'*  Oh,  father,  arc  you  safe?     You  are  not  hurt?" 

"Hurt!  Why,  what  would  hurt  me,  yru  silly 
baby  ?  "  He  ruffled  her  hair,  pulling  it  over  her  eyes 
''You've  been  dreaming;  I  believe  you  are  talking  in 
^  our  sleep  now.     Why  are  you  not  in  bed?" 

"  I  couldn't  sleep  till  you  came  home.  What  kept 
you  so  late,  father?" 

"  Now  this  is  more  than  the  law  requires  of  a  man. 


(   1 
1/   . 


iH 


it 


'*'■• 


Ml. 


162 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Have  I  to  make  explanations  to  two  women  every 
night  I  come  home  by  the  late  train?  " 

The  girl  sat  down  on  a  hassock,  and  laid  her  head  on 
her  father's  knee,  he  smoothing  her  hair  caressingly. 

"What  is  all  this  pother  about,  Edna?  Why  are 
you  so  anxious  ^t  my  being  out  late  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  in  danger ;  I  read  what  was 
said  in  the  paper  about  your  defying  the  men,  and — 
and " 

Sartwell  laughed  quietly. 

"  My  dear  girl,  if  you  are  going  to  begin  life  by 
believing  all  you  see  in  the  papers,  you  will  have  an 
uneasy  time  ot  it.  I  can  tell  you  something  much 
more  startling  which  has  not  yet  appeared  in  print." 

"  What  is  that,  father  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  looking  up 
at  him. 

"  That  you  have  been  a  most  unruly  child  all  day, 
causing  deep  anxiety  to  those  responsible  for  your  up- 
bringing." 

Edna  sank  her  head  again  upon  her  father's  knee. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  that  is  quite  true.  I  have  been 
dreadfully  wicked  and  rebellious,  saying  things  I  ought 
not  to  have  said." 

"  And  leaving  unsaid  the  things, — ah  well,  none  of 
us  is  quite  perfect.  It  is  a  blessing  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  forgiveness  of  sins,  otherwise  most  of  us 
would  come  badly  off." 

"Somehow,  when  you  are  here,  nothing  seems  to 
matter,  and  any  worries  of  the  day  appear  small  and 
trivial,  and  I  wonder  why  they  troubled  me  ;  but  when 
you  are  away — well,  it's  different  altogether." 

"  That  is  very  flattering  to  me,  Edna,  but  you 
mustn't  imagine  I'm  to  be  cajoled  into  omitting  the 
scolding  you  know  you  deserve.  No,  I  can  see  through 
your  diplomacy.  It  won't  do,  my  dear  girl,  it  won't 
do." 

"  It  isn't  diplomacy  or  flattery ;  it's  true.  I'll  take 
my  scoldmg  most  meekly  if  you  tell  me  what  hap- 
pened to-day." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


163 


very 

d  on 

r  are 

:  was 
nd— 


Ee  by 
/e  an 
much 
nt. 
ngup 

1  day, 
ur  up- 
nee, 
i  been 
ought 

»ne  of 
iuch  a 
of   us 

Ims  to 
i\\  and 
when 

you 

ig  the 

[rough 

won't 

II  take 


hap- 


"  I  refuse  to  bargain  with  a  confessed  rebel ;  still,  as 
I  must  get  you  off  to  bed  before  morning,  I  will  tell 
you  what  happened.  An  attempt  was  made  to  settle 
the  strike  to-day.  The  men  had  a  meeting  to-night, 
and  I  waited  at  my  club  to  hear  the  outcome.  I  had 
a  man  at  the  meeting  who  was  to  bring  me  the  result 
of  the  vote  as  soon  as  it  was  taken.  A  young  man — 
one  of  the  strikers,  but  the  only  man  of  brains  among 
them — saw  me  this  afternoon,  and  made  certain  propo- 
sals that  I  accepted.  Gibbons  was  to  be  renounced, 
and  a  deputation  of  the  men  was  to  come  to  me.  We 
should  probably  have  settled  the  matter  in  ten  minutes, 
if  it  had  come  off." 

"  Then  he  failed,  after  all  his  trouble  ?  " 

"  Who  failed  ?  "  • 

"  The — the  young  man  you  speak  of?  " 

Edna  found  her  rSle  of  deceiver  a  difficult  one. 
She  was  glad  her  father  could  not  see  her  face,  and 
bitterly  regretted  giving  Iviarsten  a  promise  not  to 
tell  of  his  visit. 

"  Yes,  he  failed.  Of  course  there  was  not  time  to 
canvass  the  men  properly,  and  at  the  meeting  Gibbons, 
who  is  a  glib  talker,  won  over  enough  to  defeat  the 
efforts  of  the  others.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  victory,  but 
sufficient  for  the  purpose.  They  had,  I  understand,  a 
very  stormy  meeting,  and  Gibbons  won  by  some  dozen 
votes  or  thereabouts." 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done  now?  " 

"Oh,  we  are  just  where  we  were.  I'll  wait  a  few 
days  more,  and,  if  the  men  do  not  come  back,  I'll  fill 
their  places  with  a  new  lot.  I  don't  want  to  do  that 
except  as  a  last  resort,  but  I  won't  be  played  with 
very  much  longer.  Now,  dear  girl,  you  know  all 
about  it ;  so  to  bed,  to  bed,  at  once,  and  sleep  soundly. 
This  dissipation  cannot  be  allowed,  you  know." 

He  kissed  her  and  patted  her  affectionately  on  the 
shoulder.  The  girl,  with  a  guilty  feeling  in  her  heart, 
crept  up  stairs  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  descended. 


» 


.  1 


.  • 


•M 
Mt 

:;.i 


I* 

04:        t 


I,:. 

-I' 

ill 


I, 


•iff' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Albert  Langly  found  a  new  and  absorbing  in- 
terest in  life.  This  interest  was  fri^*;  ':jhip,  the  pleas- 
ures of  which  the  organist  had  never  before  experi- 
enced during  his  lonely  and  studious  existence.  He 
became  a  constant  visitor  at  Braunt's  rooms  and  be- 
gan teaching  Jessie  the  rudiments  of  music,  finding 
her  a  willing  and  apt  pupil  as  well  as  a  very  silent 
one.  Her  gaunt  face  and  large  sorrowful  eyes  haunted 
him  wherever  he  went,  while  she  looked  upon  him 
with  an  awe  such  as  she  would  have  bestowed  upon 
a  being  from  another  world  ;  which  perhaps  he  was, 
for  he  had  certainly  little  relationship  with  this  eager, 
money-seeking  planet.  Joe  Braunt  was  quite  content 
to  sit  in  his  armchair  and  smoke.  However  small 
the  money  is  for  the  housekeeping,  a  workingman  will 
generally  contrive  to  provide  himself  with  tobacco. 

As  often  as  not,  Braunt  was  absent  when  his  daughter 
had  her  music  lesson,  for  Mrs.  Grundy  has  little  to  say 
about  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  extreme  poor. 
The  entire  absence  of  all  world-wisdom  in  the  young 
man  would  have  made  it  difficult  for  any  one  to  explain 
to  him  why  two  people  who  loved  music  should  not 
be  together  as  often  as  opportunity  offered,  had  there 
been  any  one  who  took  interest  enough  in  him  or  in 
her  to  attempt  such  an  explanation.  The  girl,  who 
had  even  more  than  her  father's  worship  of  harmony, 
was  fascinated  by  the  organist's  marvellous  skill  upon 
the  instrument  to  which  he  had  devoted  his  life,  before 
her  solemn  eyes  had  lured  his  musical  soul  into  their 
mystic  influence.  The  two  were  lovers  without  either 
of  them  suspecting  it. 


lii    ■ 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


.65 


in- 
»leas- 
peri- 

He 
a  be- 
iding 
silent 
inted 
him 
upon 
:  was, 
pager, 
ntent 
small 

will 

CO. 

ghter 

0  say 
poor, 
^oung 
cplain 

1  not 
there 

or  in 
who 
nony, 

upon 

efore 
their 

[either 


Once  Langly  persuaded  Brauntand  his  daughter  to 
go  to  the  empty  church  with  him  and  hear  the  grand 
organ.  The  workman  and  the  girl  sat  together  in  the 
wilderness  of  vacant  pews,  and  listened  entranced 
while  the  sombre  rhythm  of  the  Dead  March  filled  the 
deserted  edifice.  Langly  played  one  selection  after 
another,  for  the  love  of  the  music  and  the  love  of  his 
audience.  It  was  a  concert  such  as  the  mad  king  of 
Bavaria  might  have  hearkened  to  in  lonely  state,  but 
heard  now  by  a  man  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket 
and  hardly  a  crust  to  eat  in  his  squalid  rooms. 
Whether  the  deft  fingers  of  the  Bavarian  player 
soothed  for  the  moment  the  demon  that  tortured  the 
king,  as  the  skill  of  David  lulled  the  disquiet  of  Saul, 
who  can  say? — but  the  enchanted  touch  of  the  solitary 
organist  on  the  ivory  keys  transported  his  listeners 
into  a  world  where  hunger  was  unknown. 

The  stillness  of  the  great  church,  untroubled  by 
outside  sounds ;  the  reverberation  of  harmony  from 
the  dim,  lofty,  vaulted  roof ;  the  awaking  of  unexpected 
echoes  lurking  in  dark  corners,  added  to  the  solemnity 
of  the  music, — gave  the  hearers  and  performer  a  sense 
of  being  cut  adrift  from  the  babel  beyond.  The 
church  for  the  time  being  was  an  oasis  of  peace  in  a 
vast  desert  of  turmoil. 

Never  again  could  Langly  persuade  Braunt  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  church.  Some  memories  are  too 
precious  to  be  molested,  and  he  who  risks  the  repeti- 
tion of  an  experience  of  perfect  bliss  prepares  for  him- 
self a  possible  disillusion. 

"  Nay,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "  we'll  let  that  rest.  Some 
day,  maybe,  if  I'm  ever  like  beginning  to  forget  what 
I've  heard,  I'll  go  back,  but  not  now.  I  would  go 
stark  music-mad  if  I  often  heard  playing  like  yon ; 
in  fact,  I  think  sometimes  I'm  half  daft  already." 

But  Jessie  often  accompanied  the  organist  to  the 
quiet  church,  neither  of  them  thinking  of  propriety  or 
impropriety ;  and  luckily  they  were  unseen  by  either 
the  sexton  or  his  wife,  \vho  would  have  raised  a  to-do 


.. ' 


\i    > 


i  ••«■ 


Ml 


i66 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■'1 1 


I'll! 


1  ir 


iMi  ^■;:|! 

I..    II 


I' 


<».!  •. 


'i!l 


ff 


MMi    n, 


•Wt 


t/k 


f  I 


Hht 


iiillii 


in  the  sacred  interests  of  fitting  and  proper  conduct. 
Sometimes  the  girl  sat  with  him  in  the  organ  loft, 
watching  him  as  he  played,  but  more  often  she  occu- 
pied one  of  the  pews,  the  better  to  hear  the  instru- 
ment in  correct  perspective.  Jessie  had  inherited 
from  her  father  the  taciturnity  which  characterized 
him,  and  her  natural  reticence  was  augmented  by  her 
shyness.  There  was  seldom  any  conversation  between 
the  two  in  the  church ;  each  appeared  abundantly 
satisfied  by  the  fact  that  the  other  was  there.  They 
might  almost  have  been  mute  lovers,  for  any  use 
spoken  language  was  to  them. 

Once,  on  coming  down  the  narrow  stair  which  led 
from  the  organ-loft,  Langly  thought  she  had  gone,  so 
strangely  deserted  did  the  church  seem.  Even  in  the 
daytime  the  gas  had  to  be  lighted  when  service  was 
held  ;  for  the  windows  were  of  stained  glass,  and  the 
church  was  closely  surrounded  by  tall  buildings.  The 
atmosphere  in  that  grim  quarter  was  rarely  clear,  and 
the  interior  of  the  church  was  always  dim.  Langly 
peered  short-sightedly  through  the  gloom,  but  could 
not  descry  her.  A  feeling  of  vague  alarm  took  pos- 
session of  him,  until,  hurrying  up  the  aisle,  he  saw  she 
was  in  her  place,  with  her  head  resting  on  the  hymn- 
book  board  of  the  pew,  apparently  asleep.  He  touched 
her  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and,  when  she  slowly 
raised  her  head,  saw  that  she  had  been  silently  weep- 
ing. 

"  What  IS  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  he  whispered,  bend- 
ing over  her. 

*'  I  feel  afraid — afraid  of  something — I  don*t  know 
what.  The  church  grew  black  dark  suddenly,  and  the 
music  faded  away.  I  thought  I  was  sinking,  sinking 
down,  and  no  one  to  save  me."  She  shuddered  as  she 
spoke,  and  rose  uncertainly  to  her  feet,  tottering 
slightly  on  stepping  into  the  aisle.  "  It  was  like  a  bad 
dream,"  she  added,  with  long-drawn,  quivering  breath. 

He  slipped  his  arm  about  her  waist,  supporting  her 
as  they  walked  down  the  aisle  together. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


167 


iuct. 
loft, 
>ccu- 
stru- 
rited 
'ized 
her 
veen 
intly 
rhey 
r  use 

h  led 

le,  so 

n  the 

J  was 

d  the 
The 

r,  and 

angly 

could 
pos- 

w  she 

lymn- 
iched 
owly 
weep- 

bend- 

know 
d  the 
nking 
she 
ering 
a  bad 
Ireath. 
g  her 


"  It*s  the  darkness  of  the  church,"  he  said,  "  and 
perhaps  the  sadness  of  the  music.  I'll  play  something 
more  cheerful  next  time  you  come.  I  play  too  much 
in  minor  keys." 

At  the  door  si  ^,  asked  him  to  stop  a  moment  before 
going  out.  She  dried  her  eyes,  but  ineffectually  ;  for, 
leanmg  against  the  stone  wall,  she  began  to  cry  again 
in  a  despondent,  helpless  way  that  v/rung  the  young 
man's  heart  within  him. 

"Jessie,  Jessie,"  he  faltered,  not  knowing  what  to 
do  or  say. 

"  I  feel  ill  and  weak,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  shall  be  all 
right  again  presently." 

"Come,  and  we  will  have  tea  somewhere.  That 
will  cheer  you  up." 

They  went  away  together,  and  he  took  her  to  a 
place  where  tea  was  to  be  had.  She  sat  there,  de- 
jectedly leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  while  the  re- 
freshments were  being  brought;  he  opposite  her,  in 
melancholy  silence.  She  took  some  sips  of  the  tea, 
but  could  not  drink  it,  shaking  her  head  when  he 
offered  her  the  buttered  bread. 

"  I  must  get  home,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  can't  eat. 
I  shall  be  better  there." 

They  walked  slowly  to  Rose  Garden  Court,  and  at 
No.  3  he  helped  her  up  the  sordid  stair;  she  clinging 
breathlessly  to  the  shaky  railing  at  every  step  or  two, 
he  thankful  there  was  but  one  flight  to  climb.  Braunt 
sat  in  his  armchair,  an  angry  cloud  on  his  brow.  He 
was  in  his  gruffest  mood,  looking  at  them  when  they 
entered  with  surly  displeasure,  but  he  said  nothing. 
It  was  the  evening  after  the  men,  with  their  small 
majority,  had  resolved  to  continue  the  strike,  and 
Braunt's  pipe  was  cold.  Not  another  scrap  of  to- 
bacco could  he  gather,  although  he  had  turned  out 
every  pocket  in  hope  of  finding  a  crumb  or  two.  Jes- 
sie sank  into  a  chair,  her  white  face  turning  appeal- 
ingly,  alternately  from  her  father  to  her  friend,  evi- 
dently fearing  that   something   harsh  might  be  said, 


1.    k 


Ik 


.^^\ 


iii4 


1 68 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1! 


■  I!' 


>f,«    s 


1»^ 


:ii  ''t' 


■'Ml  ., 
lew.  J 


II  |. 


I :  ■ 


11   '     ■;    I 


I'  : 


for  she  knew  her  father  was   rough-spoken  when  ill- 
pleased. 

•'  Jessie  is  not  well,"  said  the  organist. 

Braunt  did  not  answer  him,  but  crossed  over  to  his 
daughter,  and,  smoothing  her  hair,  said  more  gently 
than  slie  had  expected  : 

"  What's  wrong,  lassie  ?     Art  hungry  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  murmured  the  girl,  eagerly.  "  We  had 
tea  before  we  came  in.     I'm  not  hungry." 

Langly,  slow  as  he  was  to  comprehend,  saw  that 
Braunt,  at  least,  had  been  without  food,  perhaps  for 
long.  He  had  several  times  offered  him  money  from 
his  own  scanty  store,  but  it  had  always  been  refused, 
sometimes  in  a  manner  not  altogether  friendly.  The 
organist  went  quietly  out,  leaving  father  and  daughter 
alone  together. 

**  Would  you  like  me  to  get  some  one  to  come  in — 
some  woman  ?  "  said  Braunt,  anxiously.  *'  We  don't 
know  our  neighbours,  but  one  of  the  women  would 
come  in  if  she  knew  you  were  ill." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  J  want  none — naught  but  just  to  rest  a  little.  It 
will  all  pass  away  soon.     I  need  but  rest." 

The  father  returned  to  his  chair,  and  they  sat  silent 
in  the  gathering  darkness. 

Presently  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  Langly 
enteied  with  parcels  in  his  arms.  He  placed  a  loaf 
on  the  table,  with  the  rest  of  his  burdens,  and  put  on 
the  empty  hearth  the  newspaper  that  held  a  penny- 
worth of  coals. 

Braunt  glared  at  him,  speechless  for  a  moment ;  then 
cried  out,  indignantly : 

"I'll  ha'  none  o'  thy  charity,  my  lad,  d d  if  I 

will!" 

Before  Langly  could  reply,  Jessie  rose  tremblingly 
to  her  feet. 

"  Don't,  father,  don't !  "  she  wailed;  then,  swaying  as 
•^he  attempted  to  walk  towards  him,  she  fell  suddenly 
'».  a  heap  on  the  floor. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


169 


.  iU- 


I  his 
ntly 

had 

that 
s  for 
from 
used, 
The 
ghter 

i  in— 
don't 
vould 

It 

silent 

|angly 
loaf 
ut  on 
jenny- 
then 
if  I 
iingly 

ing  as 
Idenly 


Langly  sprang  forward,  but  Braunt  brushed  him 
roughly  aside,  and,  stooping  over  his  daughter,  lifted 
her  slight  form  in  his  arms,  speaking  soothingly  and 
caressingly  to  her.  He  carried  her  to  the  bed,  and 
placed  her  lovingly  upon  it. 

*'  Run  !  "  he  cried  to  Langly.  "  Run  for  a  doctor. 
There's  one  down  Light  Street.  There's  something 
main  wrong  here,  I'm  feared." 

The  young  man  needed  no  second  telling.  The 
doctor  objected  to  go  to  Rose  Garden  Court ;  he  had 
his  own  patients  to  attend  to,  he  said.  He  knew 
there  was  little  to  be  got  out  of  the  court. 

"  I  am  organist  at  St.  Martyrs,"  replied  the  messen- 
ger, eagerly.     "  I  will  see  you  paid." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  that,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Who  gener- 
ally attends  people  in  the  court?  There  must  be 
some  one." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Langly,  "and  I  have  no 
time  to  find  out.     The  case  is  urgent.     Come  !  " 

So  the  doctor,  grumbling — for  this  kind  of  practice 
was  out  of  his  line — went  with  him. 

They  found  Braunt  anxiously  chafing  the  hands  of 
the  girl. 

"  You've  been  long  about  it,"  he  cried,  as  they 
entered. 

Neither  answered,  and  the  doctor  went  quickly 
to  the  bed,  with  the  seemingly  callous  indifference  of 
a  man  to  whom  such  scenes  are  matters  of  hourly 
routine.  He  placed  his  fingers  upon  her  wrist,  bent 
his  ear  down  to  her  breast,  then  put  his  hand  on  her 
smooth  white  brow. 

**  Has  she  been  long  ill  ?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"  Jessie  was  always  weakly,"  answered  her  father, 
"  and  latterly  has  not  been  at  all  well,  poor  girl." 

"  Who  has  attended  her?  " 

"  No  one." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know,  I  can't  grant  a  death  certifi- 
cate under  these  circumstances.  There  will  most 
likely  be  an  inquest." 


'•   \ 


tf 


iflfrf^ 


170 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


>t  !■ 


::* 


rp 


r; 


"  Good  God  !  "  shrieked  Braunt.  "  An  inquest ! 
You  don't  mean  to  say — you  can't  mean  it! — Jessie  is 
not  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  dead.  I  can  do  no  good  here.  I'll  let 
the  coroner  know,  and  he  can  do  as  he  pleases.  I  have 
no  doubt  it  is  all  right,  but  we  are  bound  to  act  ac- 
cording to  the  law,  you  know.     Good-night !  " 

Braunt  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  in  a  storm  of 
grief ;  Langly  stood  by  the  side  of  the  dead  girl, 
stunned.  He  took  her  limp,  thin  hand  in  his,  and 
gazed  down  upon  her,  dazed  and  tearless.  Her  father 
rose  and  paced  the  room,  alternately  pleading  with 
fate  and  cursing  it.  Suddenly  he  turned  on  Langly 
like  a  madman. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  roared.  "  It  was 
your  interference  that  caused  her  last  words  to  be 
troubled.     Get  you  gone,  and  leave  us  alone !  " 

Langly  turned  from  the  bee'  ind  walked  slowly  to 
the  door  without  a  word,  Braunt  following  him  with 
his  lowering,  bloodshot  eyes.  The  young  man  paused 
irresolutely  at  the  door,  leaned  his  arm  against  it,  and 
bowed  his  head  in  hopeless  anguish. 

"  Heaven  help  me!  "  he  said,  despairingly,  '*  I  loved 
her  too." 

Braunt  looked  at  him  a  moment,  not  comprehend- 
ing at  first.     Gradually  the  anger  faded  from  his  face. 

"  Did  you  so,  lad  ? "  he  said  gently,  at  last.  "  I 
didn't  know — I  didn't  know.  Forgive  me  my  brutish 
temper.  God  knows  it  should  be  broken  by  this  time. 
I'm  crazy,  lad,  and  know  not  what  I  say.  I  have  not 
a  penny-piece  in  the  world,  nor  where  to  go  to  get 
aught.  My  lassie  shall  not  have  a  pauper's  funeral  in 
this  heartless  town.  No,  not  if  I  have  to  take  her  in 
my  arms,  as  I  ha'  oft  done,  and  trudge  wi'  her  to  the 
North,  sleeping  under  the  hedges  by  the  way.  Yes, 
that's  what  I'll  do.  We'll  be  tramping  to  the  Dead 
MarcJi  then.  It  will  keep  us  company.  We'll  rest  at 
night  in  the  green  fields  under  the  trees,  away  from  the 
smoke  and  din,  alone  together.     Ah,  God!  I'll  begin 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


171 


est! 
ie  is 

I  let 
have 
t  ac- 

m  of 

,  and 

ather 

with 

angly 

;t  was 
to  be 

►vly  to 
n  with 
paused 
and 

loved 


hend- 
face. 
.     "I 
Drutish 
time, 
ve  not 
to  get 
cral  in 
her  in 
to  the 
Yes, 
;  Dead 
rest  at 
)m  the 
begin 


the  journey  now  and  tramp  all  night  to  be  quit  o'  this 
Babylon  ere  the  morning." 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  Langly,  catching  his  arm.  **You 
mustn't  do  that.  You  must  hear  what  the  coroner 
says." 

"  What  has  the  coroner  or  any  one  else  to  do  with 
me  or  her  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  law :  you  must  obey  it." 

**  What  care  I  for  the  law  ?  What's  it  done  for 
either  me  or  Jessie?  I'll  have  no  pauper  funeral,  law 
or  no  law." 

"  There  won't  be  a  pauper  funeral.  There  are  kind 
hearts  in  London,  as  well  as  in  the  North.  Promise  me 
you'll  do  nothing  until  I  see  if  I  can  get  the  money." 

''  I  promise,"  said  Braunt,  sinking  into  his  chair. 
**  I  doubt  if  I  could  walk  far  to-night,  even  if  I  tried. 
But  leave  me  now,  lad,  and  come  back  again  later.  I 
want  to  be  alone  and  think." 

Langly  left  the  room,  and  on  the  landing  met 
Marsten,  whom  he  did  not  know,  but  who  he  saw  was 
about  to  enter. 

"  Don't  go  in,"  he  whispered.  "  He  wants  to  be 
alone." 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?  "  asked  Marsten,  alarmed 
at  the  tone  of  the  other. 

"Yes,  his  daughter  is  dead." 

"Dead!     Good  God  !     How?     An  accident  ?  " 

"  No.  She  has  been  ill  for  v/eeks,  but  no  one 
thought  of  this.  Jessie  died  about  an  hour  since — 
unexpectedly.     Are  you  a  friend  of  his?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  must  help  me — tell  me  what  to  do. 
Come  down  into  the  court  where  we  can  talk." 

The  two  young  men  descended  the  stair. 

"  Braunt  has  no  money,  and  he  will  not  have  his 
daughter  buried  Ly  the  Parish.  We  must  get  money. 
I  have  promised  it,  but  I  have  very  little  myself,  al- 
though I  will  willingly  give  all  I  have.  If  it  was  more 
I  would  not  ask  help  from  any  one." 


172 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


if  f 


*• 

'">■'*     . 
t  1 

It!  > 

Hi 

m- 

'*%(!    n, 

h    < 

»J*I|   || 

1»() 


!( 


"  I  have  only  a  few  shillings,"  said  Marsten,  "  but 
we  must  get  more  somehow.  None  of  the  men  has 
any,  or  they  would  give  it.  Yesterday  I  could  have 
gone  to  Sartwell .;  but  to-day,  unfortunately,  I  have 
quarrelled  with  him,  bitterly  and  irretrievably,  I  fear. 
Although  he  said  nothing  to  me,  I  can't  go  to  him. 
But  there  is  Barnard  Hope.  Yes,  he's  the  man.  He 
helped  Braunt  when  there  was  trouble  with  the  police. 
I  don't  like  to  go  to  Barnard  Hope — for  certain  rea- 
sons I  don't  care  to  be  indebted  to  him.  Would  you 
mind  going?     He  lives  in  Chelsea." 

"  No.     I  will  do  anything  I  can.     I  have  promised." 

"  Then  I  would  go  to-night  if  I  were  you.  To- 
morrow is  his  *  At  Home '  day,  and  there  will  be  a  lot 
of  people  there.  It  will  be  difficult  to  see  him  then, 
and  we  can't  wait  until  the  day  after.  His  address  is 
Craigenputtoch  House,  Chelsea.  If  you  fail,  I  will 
see  his  father,  so  one  or  other  of  us  is  sure  to  get  the 
money." 

"  I  will  go  at  once,"  said  Langly. 

It  was  a  long  journey  to  Chelsea,  and  when  the  tired 
organist  reached  the  place  he  found  Barney  had  a 
theatre  party  on,  with  a  dance  to  follow,  and  would 
not  likely  be  home  that  night.  It  was  uncertain  when 
he  would  return  in  the  morning,  but  he  would  be  sure 
to  be  back  at  three  o'clock,  as  his  *  At  Home '  friends 
would  begin  to  gather  at  that  hour,  so  Barney's  servant 
said.  The  wearied  man  tramped  back,  and  reached 
Rose  Garden  Court  about  midnight.  He  rapped  at 
Braunt's  door,  and,  receiving  no  answer,  pushed  it 
open  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  He  feared  the 
headstrong,  impatient  man  might,  after  all,  have  car- 
ried out  his  resolution,  and  left  with  his  burden  for 
the  North,  but  he  found  nothing  changed.  Braunt 
sat  there  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  gave  him  no 
greeting. 

"  I  am  to  have  the  money  to-morrow,"  Langly  said, 
feeling  sure  it  would  not  be  refused. 

Braunt  made  no  answer,  and,  taking  one  look  at  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


173 


said, 
Lt  the 


silent  figure  on  the  bed,  whose  face  seemed  now  like 
that  of  a  little  child,  the  young  man  departed  as 
quietly  as  he  had  entered. 

Mrs.  Scimmins  met  him  on  the  stair.  She  wanted 
to  know  all  about  it.  She  said  that  the  women  of  the 
court,  when  they  heard  of  the  death,  had  offered  their 
help,  but  Braunt  had  acted  like  a  brute,  and  had 
driven  them  away  with  fearful  oaths.  She  was  sure 
something  was  wrong.  The  coroner  had  been  there, 
and  thought  so  too.  There  was  to  be  an  inquest  at 
the  Vestry  Hall  in  the  morning.  A  summons  had 
been  left  for  Langly  to  attend  and  give  his  evidence. 

'*  But  I'm  going  to  Chelsea  in  the  morning,"  cried 
the  young  man,  aghast.  **  I  know  nothing,  except 
that  Jessie  has  been  ill." 

"  You  saw  her  die,  they  say.  Braunt  admitted  that. 
You  will  have  to  attend  the  inquest,  or  they  will  send 
a  policeman  after  you." 

Langly  did  not  sleep  that  night,  and  was  gaunt  and 
haggard  in  the  morning.  The  coroner's  jury  trooped 
up  the  stair,  and,  after  looking  at  the  dead  girl,  ad- 
journed to  the  Vestry  Hall.  Langly  gave  his  evi- 
dence, and,  leaving  the  room  at  once,  hovered  about 
the  door,  waiting  for  Braunt,  who  remained  in  the 
Vestry  Hall.  At  last  he  came  out,  with  white  face, 
staring  straight  ahead  of  him. 

**  What  did  they  say  ?  "  asked  Langly  ;  but  the 
other  did  not  answer,  striding  through  the  curious 
crowd  as  if  he  saw  nothing. 

"  What  was  the  verdict  ?  "  inquired  a  bystander  of 
one  of  the  jurymen  as  he  came  out. 

"  Starved  to  death,"  replied  the  man. 


pl 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


u  • 


>.» 


■I 


liltf)    'l 


•V 


'U 


On  the  day  after  Marsten's  failure  to  win  a  majority 
of  the  men  to  his  side  in  the  strike  controversy,  the 
young  man  went  to  Wimbledon,  hoping  to  find  consola- 
tion for  his  defeat  in  the  company  of  the  girl  he  ^oved. 
He  felt  that  he  was  perhaps  taking  a  rather  unfair 
advantage  of  Sartwell  in  thus  making  a  clandestine 
appointment  with  his  daughter,  but  he  justified  him- 
self, as  lovers  have  always  justified  themselves,  by 
claiming  that  a  man  was  a  fool  to  lose  a  trick  when  he 
had  the  card  in  his  hand  to  take  it.  It  was  evident 
that  Sartwell  had  no  objection  to  the  visits  of  Barnard 
Hope,  and  that  he  would  be  quite  willing  to  have  his 
daughter  marry  the  son  of  his  employer.  If  Marsten 
had  known  this  the  day  before,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  self-denying  as  to  refuse  to  see  Edna  Sartwell, 
and  now  that  fate  had  interposed  in  his  behalf,  giv- 
ing him  the  knowledge  that  he  had  a  rival,  he  was 
not  going  to  be  idiot  enough  to  throw  away  his 
chance. 

He  entered  the  vacant  plot  surrounding  the  empty 
house,  and  looked  anxiously  along  the  glass-topped 
wall  for  the  signal  that  Edna  had  promised,  under 
compulsion,  to  display.  It  was  not  in  sight.  He 
wondered  if,  after  all,  the  girl  had  told  her  father  of 
his  visit.  Let  Sartwell  get  but  the  slightest  inkling 
of  it,  and  Marsten  was  certain  the  whole  particulars 
would  soon  be  within  the  manager's  knowledge. 

He  wandered  up  and  down  the  wrong  side  of  the 
wall  disconsolately,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  Once  he 
paused  near  where  he  had,  on  the  previous  day, 
jumped  over.     He  thought  he  heard  a  slight  cough 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


175 


on  the  other  side.  It  might  be  a  warning,  or  an  invi- 
tation :  the  question  was,  which  ?  She  must  know 
that  he  would  be  there,  waiting  for  her  signal ;  or  per- 
haps— the  thought  was  bitter — she  might  have  forgot- 
ten all  about  him. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  garden  was  a  park  fence, 
lower  than  the  forbidding  stone  wall,  which  it  joined  at 
right  angles.  As  anything  is  better  than  suspense, 
the  young  man  resolved  to  take  the  risk  of  reconnoit- 
ering.  He  mounted  the  park  fence  and  peered  over 
the  wall,  but  the  trees  and  shrubbery  were  so  thick 
that  he  could  not  see  whether  any  one  was  in  Sart- 
well's  garden  or  not ;  even  the  house  was  hidden  from 
his  view.  Faint  heart  never  climbed  a  stone  wall : 
Marsten  hesitated  but  a  moment,  seized  a  branch  of 
an  overhanging  tree,  pulled  himself  up  to  the  top, 
chancing  the  glass,  and  leaped  down  among  the  shrub- 
bery on  the  other  side.  He  listened  intently  for  a 
while,  but  there  was  n  ^  sound  ;  then  he  moved  cau- 
tiously through  the  bush^«  to  the  open  space  under  the 
trees  where  he  had  -.  .ed  with  her  the  day  before. 
No  one  was  there,  but  ne  caught  his  breath  as  he  saw 
a  red-silk  scarf  hanging  over  the  back  of  one  of  the 
chairs.  She  had  at  least  thought  of  him,  for  that  was 
undoubtedly  the  unused  signal. 

He  was  '•  ^w  in  a  greater  quandary  than  he  had  been 
on  the  ot-  er  side  of  the  wall.  She  had  apparently 
intended  to  throw  the  scarf  over  the  broken  glass, 
otherwise  why  had  she  brought  it  to  their  rendezvous ; 
but,  as  she  had  not  given  the  signal  agreed  upon, 
might  there  not  be  a  danger  that  her  father  was  at 
home?  The  young  man  knit  his  brows  as  he  pon- 
dered on  what  explanation  he  would  give  Sartwell  if 
he  were  discovered  standincf  under  the  trees. 

Marsten  had  half  made  up  his  mind  to  return  by  the 
way  he  came,  when  he  saw  Edna  approaching  from 
the  house.  The  girl  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a 
smile  that  went  to  his  heart,  but  her  words  were  not 
so  reassuring. 


r   * 


176 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I|lf!^ 


w 


•  I 

''  ».' 

'1 

■iSf, 

^i!-  '  .  ' 

Ai 

'  1 
'1  _ 

:::• 

• "»»' 


"  I  was  watching  for  you,"  she  said,  "  hoping  you 
would  not  come." 

"  Hoping  I  would  not  come  ?  "  echoed  Marsten,  with 
a  suggestion  of  dismay  in  his  tone. 

"  At  least  hoping  you  would  not  come,  except  by 
the  gate.  I  don't  like  this.  It  seems  secret  and  mean 
— as  if  we  were  doing  something  we  were  ashamed  of. 
Now,  we  may  not  accomplish  much  good,  talking 
about  the  strike,  but  we  are  certainly  not  doing  any- 
thing either  of  us  would  fear  to  have  'he  whole  world 
know.  There  is  no  reason,  now  that  your  plans  of 
yesterday  have  failed,  why  you  should  not  have  come 
to  the  front  door  like  any  other  visitor,  is  there  ?  " 

**  I  suppose  not." 

"  Of  course  not,"  cried  the  girl,  eagerly,  "  and  so  I 
intend  to  tell  my  father  all  about  this  visit,  even  if  I 
could  not  mention  yesterday's." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  not  do  anything  of  the  kind," 
pleaded  Marsten,  thoroughly  alarmed.  "  You  will 
promise  me,  won't  you,  that  you  will  not  say  a  word 
of  my  being  here  to-day?" 

The  girl  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I'll  not  make  another  promise  so  foolish  as  yester- 
day's.    You  see,  my  promise  did  no  good." 

"  What !  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Sartwell  I  had  been 
here?" 

"  No.  I  said  I  wouldn't,  and  I  didn't ;  but  it  made 
me  feel  wretchedly  guilty  when  there  was  no  oc  :asion 
for  it.  What  I  mean  is,  that  your  plans  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  putting  an  end  to  the  strike,  and  so  it  would 
have  made  no  difference  after  all,  if  I  had  told  my 
father.  Don't  you  see  that  ?  No,  I  won't  make 
another  such  promise  in  a  hurry  again." 

"  Miss  Sartwell,"  said  Marsten,  seriously,  "  you  don't 
understand  all  the  circumstances;  ther^  are  reasons 
why  your  father  must  not  know  I  have  been  here. 
Although  negotiations  have  failed  for  the  moment, 
they  will  come  on  again  shortly.  If  Mr.  Sartwell 
knew  I  was  here  yesterday " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


177 


)een 

lade 

Ision 

Isuc- 

.uld 

my 

lake 

lon't 
ions 
jere. 
lent, 
rell 


"  Oh,  I  intend  to  keep  my  promise  about  yester- 
day. I  shall  not  say  a  word  about  that  visit :  it  is  of 
to-day's  I  shall  tell  him." 

"But  don't  you  see?  Yesterday's  visit  led  to  this 
one.  They  are  inseparably  joined  :  you  cannot  men- 
tion one  without  leading  to  the  other.  Please  promise 
you  will  say  nothing  about  to-day's  either." 

"  I  won't  make  any  more  promises.  When  my 
father  came  home  late  last  night,  he  told  me  all  that 
happened — what  you  had  tried  to  do,  and  everything. 
I  felt  so  guilty  at  having  to  keep  anything  from  him, 
that  I  resolved  to  make  no  more  promises  to  any  one 
unless  he  knew  of  them  and  there  was  no  need  to 
feel  guilty.  I  am  sure  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
know  we  had  talked  about  the  strike,  and  were  trying 
to  help  him  ;  yet  all  because  of  that  foolish  promise 
I  dared  not  say  a  word.  I  think,  if  you  knew  what  I 
suffered,  you  would  not  ask  me  to  keep  anything 
from  him." 

"  Dear  Miss  Sartwell,"  cried  Marsten,  with  more  of 
his  affection  for  the  girl  in  his  voice  than  he  was  aware 
of,  "  I  would  not  cause  you  suffering  for  anything  in 
the  world  !  " 

Edna  looked  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes,  surprised 
at  his  vehemence  ;  then  she  laughrd  merrily. 

"  Why,  how  serious  you  are  !  After  all,  I  shall  soon 
forget  about   it  ;   and    although    I    won't   make    rash 

promises  again,  I'll  think  it  all  over,  and  if but  then, 

what  is  the  use  of  *  ifs  '  ?  I  shall  say  to  my  father  to- 
night that  you  came  to  see  him,  and  that  I  talked  with 
you  about  the  strike/' 

"That  wouldn't  be  true.  Miss  Sartwell.  I  didn't 
come  to  see  him  ;  I  came  to  see  you." 

"  Oh  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  you  would  have  to  tell  him  I  climbed  the 
wall.  You  can't  go  in  for  half-truths,  you  know,  and 
we  haven't  talked  much  about  the  strike,  have  we  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  came  for  that,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Yes.     Oh,  yes,  of  course.     Nothing  else;  but  you 


1  • 


r 


•■n' 


i;8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■  I 


f.h 


,.K 


itHi  -  •;*-  , 


1 

') 

1 , 

'v.  ■ 

"v.. 
•Hit     , 


see  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  anything  about  this  visit  to 
your  father  unless  you  told  him  everything.  He 
would  want  to  know  why  I  came  over  the  wall." 

,  "And  why  did  you  ?  I  am  sure  you  might  just  as 
well  have  come  through  the  gate.  It  would  have 
been  much  easier." 

"  I  will  next  time  I  come.  But  you  know  the  wall 
is  there,  and  I  came  over  it ;  so,  without  making  any 
promise,  I  beg  of  you  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  Mr. 
Sartwell,  for  he  will  want  all  sorts  of  explanations  that 
I  don't  quite  see  how  I  can  give." 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't.  Oh,  dear!  that's  a  promise, 
isn't  it  ?  And  I  protested  I  wouldn't.  I  suppose 
you'll  think  that  it  is  just  like  a  woman.  But  I'll 
never  make  you  another  promise — never." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Miss  Sartwell.  I  would  prom- 
ise you  anything." 

"  Very  well.  Promise  me  you  will  tell  my  father 
you  were  here." 

The  girl  laughed  as  she  saw  his  discomfiture  when 
she  so  promptly  took  him  at  his  word. 

"  There,"  she  cried,  gleefully,  "  you  see,  you  didn't 
mean  what  you  said.  I  really  believe  you  are  afraid 
of  my  father." 

"  I  am." 

"  That's  very  funny.  I  should  like  to  tell  him  that. 
I  can't  imagine  any  one  being  afraid  of  him." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  never  seen  him  when  he  is 
angry." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have ;  but  I  just  sit  quiet  and  say  noth- 
ing. He  is  never  violent,  when  angry,  as  some  men 
are,  but  his  eyes  half  close,  and  liis  lips  are  set  tight, 
and  he  doesn't  care  to  be  spoken  to  just  then  ;  so 
that's  why  I  don't  speak.  He  was  angry  with  you 
that  night,  was  he  not?  " 

"What  night.  Miss  SartwelP  '  asked  Marsten,  al- 
most holding  his  breath. 

"  The  night  at  the  office  when  I  came  in.  The  first 
time  you  ever  spoke  to  me.     Don't  you  remember?  " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


179 


to 
He 

:  as 
ave 

wall 
any 
Mr. 
that 

nise, 

pose 

I'll 

irom- 

ather 

when 

dnt 
"raid 

that. 

he  is 

noth- 
men 
tight, 
n  ;  so 
1  you 

m,  al- 

e  first 
)er? 


"  I  shall  never  forget  it,"  Marsten  said,  in  a  hushed 
voice. 

"  Oh,  you  take  things  too  much  to  heart,  I  can  see 
that.  You  shouldn't  mind  a  little  disappointment,  nor 
think  my  father  hard  because  he  refused  you.  I  spoke 
up  for  you  at  the  time,  as  I  told  you  yesterday,  and 
I'm  afraid  I  didn't  further  your  interests  by  doing  so, 
for  father  thinks  women  shouldn't  interfere  in  busi- 
ness." 

They  were  seated  opposite  one  another,  the  girl 
bending  forward  in  friendly  confidential  attitude,  the 
young  man  unable  to  take  his  eyes  from  her,  listening, 
like  one  in  a  dream,  to  the  entrancing  murmur  of  her 
speech. 

"You  spoke  up  for  me?"  he  repeated,  as  if  solilo- 
quizing. 

"  Yes,  and  father  said " 

The  girl  paused,  embarrassed,  remembering  that 
what  had  been  said  had  not  been  complimentary  to 
her  listener. 

**  What  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  Marsten,  breathlessly. 

"Well,  you  know,  he  thought  you  too  young  and 
inexperienced  for  a  responsible  position,  and  you  are 
not  very  old,  are  you  ?  But  by  and  by,  when  you  have 
more  experience,  I  am  sure  he  will  listen  to  you.  The 
great  thing  is  to  gain  his  confidence, — at  least  that  is 
what  I  should  try  to  do." 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  win  his  confidence,"  said 
Marsten,  dolefully. 

"  Oh,  it's  not  difficult.  All  that  is  required  is  to  do 
your  duty.  I  think  it's  nothing  against  a  young  man 
that  he  is  ambitious.  That  ought  to  be  in  his  favour, 
especially  with  a  man  like  my  father,  because  he  has 
always  been  very  ambitious  himself :  and  I  think  the 
great  drawback  with  workingmen  is  that  they  do  not 
seem  to  care  whether  they  better  their  positions  or  not. 
You  can't  do  anything  for  a  man  who  won't  help  him- 
self :  and  you  are  ambitious,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Very.     Too  much  so,  I  sometimes  think." 


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THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


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t:"*i  .  ■■'■  ■ 


1 


"  Oh,  one  cannot  be  too  ambitious,  unless  one  is  a 
man  like  Napoleon  and  thoroughly  base  and  wicked. 
Then  it's  wrong,  of  course.  Now,  if  you  want  my  ad- 
vice— but  perhaps  you  think  I  know  nothing  about 
these  things?" 

"  Miss  Sartwell,  I  would  rather  have  your  advice 
than  any  one  else's  in  the  world,  and  I  will  follow  it 
to  the  letter." 

"  You  do  take  things  too  seriously.  What  a  weight 
of  responsibility  you  would  place  upon  my  shoulders ! 
No,  you  must  hear  the  advice  first,  and  then  judge 
whether  it  is  best  to  follow  it  or  not.  I  think  you 
should  work  along  quietly  for  a  year  or  two,  doing  your 
very  best  and  saying  as  little  as  possible.  Father  likes 
a  man  who  does  things,  rather  than  one  who  says 
thinfjs.  He  doesn't  believe  much  in  talk.  Then,  when 
you  see  he  trusts  you  implicitly,  perhaps  by  that  time 
he  will  offer  you  the  situation  ;  but  if  he  doesn't,  you 
lv.t  me  know,  and  I  will  speak  to  him  about  it.  Oh, 
I  shall  approach  the  subject  very  diplomatically.  I 
shall  begin  by  asking  how  you  are  getting  on  at  the 
works,  and  if  he  speaks  well  of  you,  I  will  suggest  that 
you  be  given  a  better  position  than  the  one  you  are 
in.     How  do  you  like  my  plan  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  admirable  one,  but — but " 

"  But  what  ?     Where  is  the  objection  to  it?** 

"  There  is  no  objection,  except  that  I  may  get  rather 
discouraged  as  time  goes  on." 

*•  Oh,  that  is  nonsense.  You  are  interested  in  your 
work,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  but  if  I  could  see  you  now  and 
again,  I — well — wouldn't  become  hopeless  or  despond- 
ent, you  see.     If  that  could  be  managed " 

Edna  sat  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  straight  at 
him  with  clear,  wide  eyes  that  seemed  puzzled,  trying 
to  see  beyond  what  was  plainly  in  view.  Marsten, 
burdened  by  the  consciousness  that  he  was  not  deal- 
ing honestly  with  her,  yet  afraid  to  awaken  her  too 
prematurely  to  the  realities  of   the  situation,  was  as 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


i8i 


your 

and 
[pond- 

rht  at 
:rying 
irsten, 
deal- 
er too 
ras  as 


confused  as  most  single-minded  persons  are  when 
placed  in  a  false  position  from  which  there  is  no  es- 
cape without  risking  disaster.  For  a  moment  there 
arose  in  his  fast-beating  heart  an  heroic  determination 
to  cast  all  caution  to  the  winds,  and  cry  out,  **  I  love 
you,  my  girl,  I  love  you ;  I  am  poor,  and  your  father 
has  forbidden  me  to  see  you  ;  "  but  he  feared  a  repulse 
from  the  girl,  more  fatal  to  his  hopes  than  the  check 
he  had  received  from  her  father.  He  bent  his  gaze 
upon  the  ground  and  curbed  his  impatience.  He  real- 
ized that  honesty  had  not  been  the  best  policy  when 
he  had  inopportunely  confessed  his  affection  for  the 
girl  to  her  father,  although  he  thought  at  the  time  he 
had  taken  a  manly  and  straightforward  course.  Had 
he  been  less  impulsive,  and  tried  to  win  still  farther 
the  confidence  of  Sartwell,  he  might  perhaps  have 
ultimately  gained  a  footing  in  his  chief's  house,  and 
then  who  knows  what  would  have  happened !  He 
had  drawn  upon  the  bank  of  confidence,  and  his 
cheque  had  been  dishonored :  he  could  not  risk  a 
second  mistake  of  that  kind. 

"  I  don't  like  your  word  '  managed,'  "  said  Edna  at 
last,  a  little  wrinkle  of  displeasure  on  her  fair  brow. 
"  Your  visits  here  do  not  need  to  be  managed.  You 
can  come  as  any  other  friend  of  my  father  comes,  and 
we  shall  have  plenty  of  opportunities  for  talk.  You 
persist  in  thinking  that  my  father  has  some  feeling 
against  you,  when  I  assure  you  such  is  not  the  case." 

Before  Marsten  could  answer,  the  silence  was 
sharply  broken  by  the  emphatic  click  of  the  gate,  and 
the  young  man  was  dumbfounded  by  seeing  Sartwell 
enter,  stride  up  the  path  leading  to  the  house,  stop, 
turn  his  head  toward  the  spot  where  they  sat,  then  cross 
the  lawn  directly  to  them.  Marsten  sprang  to  his  feet ; 
the  girl  arose  more  slowly,  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her 
eye.  Here  was  the  solution  of  the  problem  right  to 
her  hand,  at  precisely  the  proper  moment.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  three  faces  would  have  interested  a 
student  in  physiognomy.     Anger,  delight,  confusion, 


,1  " 


P  v  .■ 


182 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I'm    '• 

4  ' 

'  m  ■  ■ 
m  \,- 
m 

h  ■ 

ti'i.    , 

i    . 

)  \h   I 

;  'leii » ' 

h  ;! 

1 

*»ki 


.  ,  > 


U    \ 


were  reflected  from  the  countenances  of  Sartwell, 
Edna,  and  Marsten,  respectively  ;  but  the  elder  man 
was  the  first  to  control  his  emotion,  and,  as  he  ap- 
proached, his  face  became  an  impassive  mask,  reveal- 
ing nothing  of  the  passion  within.  He  cast  a  brief 
quick  glance  at  Marsten,  who  stood  there  pale,  in  the 
attitude  of  one  who  has  been  trapped,  and  who  sees 
no  avenue  of  escape.  A  longer,  more  searching  look 
at  his  daughter  showed  him  at  once  that  she  had 
nothing  to  conceal.  Her  evident  undisguised  pleasure 
at  his  coming  was  too  palpable  to  be  misunderstood. 
He  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  but  recognized  in- 
stinctively that  the  situation  required  very  delicate 
handling  if  the  girl's  ignorance  was  to  be  maintained. 
Here  the  fates  fought  on  his  side,  for  each  man,  from 
directly  opposite  motives,  desired  the  same  thing : 
neither  wished  to  have  a  conflict  in  Edna's  presence  ; 
neither  could  run  the  risk  of  full  knowledge  coming 
to  her  at  that  time.  Luckily  Edna's  eyes  were  all 
for  her  father,  and  she  gave  no  look  to  the  young  man, 
in  whose  face  and  attitude  were  undeniably  stamped 
both  guilt  and  discomfiture.    She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

**  Oh,  father,  I  am  sc  lad  you  came  ;  we  were  just 
speaking  of  you." 

"Yes,  Edna,  there  are  one  or  two  adages  bearing  on 
the  subject :  complimentary  and  the  reverse." 

Edna  laughed  brightly. 

"  We  have  been  trying  to  settle  the  strike,  and  Mr. 
Marsten  thought  you  would  be  angry  if  you  knew  he 
had  been  here — thought  you  might  call  it  interference. 
I  told  him  that  was  all  nonsense,  but  I  could  see  he 
was  not  convinced  ;  so  you  come  at  the  proper  moment 
to  solve  the  problem  finally." 

"  I  see  I  came  just  in  time.  I  am  only  too  glad  to 
have  assistance  in  unravelling  this  perplexing  tangle, 
and  I  welcome  help  from  any  quarter." 

•*  There  ! "  cried  the  girl  triumphantly,  turning  to 
her  lover,  who  had  by  this  time  partially  recovered  his 
composure.     "  Isn't  that  just  what  I  said?  " 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


183 


nan 

ap- 
real- 
Drief 

the 
sees 
look 

had 
isure 
tood. 
d  in- 
icate 
ined. 
from 
King : 
ence  ; 
)ming 
re   all 
r  man, 
mped 
speak, 
just 

ng  on 

id  Mr. 

ew  he 

Irence. 

;ee  he 

)ment 

tlad  to 
fangle, 

img  to 
>ed  his 


"  Mr.  Hope  told  mc  an  hour  ago,  Marsten,  that  you 
had  visited  him  yesterday,  and  had  done  me  the  hon- 
our to  call  at  Wimbledon  afterwards  ;  so  I  came  home, 
fearing  I  might  miss  a  second  visit.  Mr.  Hope  spoke 
very  highly  of  you,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  be  less  cordial 
than  he  in  expressing  my  own  opinion  of  your  most  dis- 
interested devotion  to  the  welfare  of  your  fellow-work- 
men." 

Marsten  moistened  his  dry  lips,  but  made  no  at- 
tempt at  reply.  Timorous  little  Mr.  Hope  had  not 
kept  faith  with  him,  then,  and,  after  counseling  him  to 
silence,  had  blurted  out  all  the  particulars  as  soon  as 
he  came  again  under  the  influence  of  his  masterful  ser- 
vant, and  thus  had  precipitated  this  deplorable  en- 
counter. Edna  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  a  slight 
shade  of  apprehension  on  her  face.  The  words  of  her 
father  were  all  that  she  could  ask,  their  tone  was  unex- 
ceptionable, and  yet — and  yet — there  was  frost  in  the 
air.  She  spoke  with  less  buoyancy  than  before,  still 
with  confidence  that  all  was  as  it  should  be. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  very  points  which  troubled  us. 
Mr.  Hope  asked  Mr.  Marsten  to  say  nothing  about  the 
Surbiton  visit,  while  I  felt  sure  you  wouldn't  mind." 

"You  did  quite  right,  Marsten,  in  saying  nothing 
about  it  when  Mr.  Hope  asked  you  not  to  mention  it, 
but  Edna  is  right  alscj  in  stating  that  it  would  have 
made  no  difference  to  me." 

"Now,"  said  Edna  to  the  young  man,  "you  see 
how  groundless  all  your  fears  were,  and  how  a  few 
simple  words  of  explanation  clear  away  all  difficulties. 
I  hope  you  will  visit  us  whenever  you  want  to  talk  to 
my  father — you  would  be  pleased  to  have  him  come, 
wouldn't  you,  father?  Mr.  Marsten  has  done  his  best 
to  settle  the  strike,  even  though  he  failed." 

"  I  quite  appreciate  that,  Marsten,  and  my  house  is 
always  open  to  you." 

Edna  glanced  with  a  smile  at  Marsten  ,  his  eyes 
were  fixed  intently  on  Sartwell,  who  continued 
suavely  : 


'V 


'4 

III 


1 84 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'M 


;  'I 
t 


'    ♦ii;r 


?(;* 


'^'i  f ; 


•».ii' 


■  >.> 


(Hi    , 

*  k  .  ^t  • ... 


**  However,  it  is  only  right  that  I  should  let  you 
know  there  will  be  no  more  need  to  discuss  the  strike. 
I  have  been  played  with  long  enough.  It  is  now  my 
turn  to  strike.  On  Monday  the  works  will  be  going 
again.  I  have  on  file  four  times  as  many  applications 
for  work  as  I  have  vacancies  to  fill.  My  cleiks  are  at 
this  moment  writing  out  some  hundreds  of  telegrams, 
asking  the  receivers  to  report  for  duty  on  Monday 
morning.  I  shall  have  no  more  traffic  with  the 
Union.*' 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  girl,  in  dismay. 

"Won't  you  give  me  another  chance  with  the 
men? "asked  Marsten,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 
"  There  were  only  a  few  votes  against  us  at  the  last 
meeting." 

"  You  have  from  now  until  Friday  night.  I  give 
you  up  to  the  latest  moment,  and  that  is  why  I  pay 
six  times  as  much  and  use  the  telegraph  rather  than 
the  post.  Letters  would  do  quite  as  well  mailed  on 
Friday.  The  works  open  on  Monday,  with  or  with- 
out you,  so  you  see  you  have  little  time  to  lose." 

"  I  shall  go  at  once  to  London  and  call  a  meeting 
of  the  men.  May  I  see  you  at  your  office  to-mor- 
row?" 

"  Certainly.  My  office  is  always  open  :  but  remem- 
ber, it  is  an  unconditional  surrender  now.  Fll  have 
no  more  parleying." 

•'  Good-by,"  said  Marsten  briefly,  turning  on  his  heel 
and  hurrying  to  the  gate,  father  and  daughter  watch- 
ing him  until  he  disappeared.  Sartwell  sank  down  in 
one  of  the  chairs,  murmuring  as  he  did  so: 

"Thank  God!" 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  father?  " 

"  Say  what  ?  Oh !  Because  a  certain  tension  has 
been  relaxed.  I  have  seen  Hope  and  Monkton  off 
together  for  Germany  this  morning,  and  they  will  be 
gone  for  at  least  a  fortnight.  This  leaves  me  a  clear 
field,  and  I  will  crush  this  strike  as  I  would  an  egg- 
shell." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


185 


you 
irike. 

V  my 

going 

itions 

are  at 

rrams, 

onday 

:h  the 


th  the 
t  time, 
[he  last 

1  give 

her  than 

lailed  on 

or  with- 

se. 

.  meeting 

-  to-mor- 

t  remem- 
I'U  have 

n  his  heel 
-er  watch- 
down  in 


Insion  has 
^nkton  off 

.ey  wil^  ^^ 
me  a  clear 

[id  an  egg- 


Sartwell  nervously  clenched  his  right  hand,  as  if  the 
egg-shell  were  within  it. 

**  I  am  sorry  for  the  men,  father." 

"  So  am  I,  my  dear,  if  they  stand  out ;  but  it  will 
be  their  own  fault.  Experience  is  said  to  teach  a 
specified  clr  3s  of  individuals,  and  they  are  preparing 
for  themselves  a  bitter  dose  of  it." 

"  Will  you  not  take  him  back,  even  if  they  hold 
out?" 

"Him?  Whom?  Oh!  Marsten.  If  they  do  not 
come  back  in  a  body,  I  will  never  allow  another  Union 
man  to  set  foot  in  the  works  again.  But  never  mind 
the  men  ;  I  want  to  talk  about  yourself." 

"About  me?" 

"  Yes  About  the  situation  here  at  home.  It  is 
not  exactly  what  I  wish  it  to  be,  and  I  intend  to  try 
an  experiment." 

"  Do  you  mean  what  happened  yesterday  between 
mother  and  me?  " 

"  I  mean  the  whole  situation.  What  happened 
yesterday  was  merely  an  indication  of  the  tendency — 
I  don't  know  just  how  to  put  it,  but  it  isn't  satis- 
factory." 

"  I  was  at  fault,  father,  as  I  said  last  night ;  I  was 
worried  and  anxious — that  is  no  excuse,  of  course — 
and  then  I  said  things  I  shouldn't  have  said.  I  was 
sorry  at  once,  but  I  am  more  sorry  now  when  I  see  I 
have  troubled  you.  It  won't  happen  again.  I  shall 
be  very  careful  in  future,  and  I  am  sure  if  you  think 
no  niore  about  it  I  shall  do  better." 

"  My  dear  Edna,  I  am  not  blaming  you  in  the  least, 
nor  do  I  think  you  were  at  fault ;  that  is,  not  entirely. 
I  am  not  censuring  any  one  ;  we  are  as  God  made  us, 
and  there  are  differences  of  temperament  which  some- 
times cause  friction.  You  are  not  having  a  fair  chance 
just  now.  I  care  very  little  about  your  mother's 
friends,  and  I  have  few  friends  myself ;  thus  you 
have  no  companioiis  of  your  own  age  whom  you  can 
have  here,  and  whose  visits  you  can  return,  as  is  right 


F 


1 86 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'ill'' 

I,!   ♦l*    I 


'      » 


tt^ 


r  ., 


,    ^''' 


nil  r . ; 


IRi  ^  .       ^<* 


and  proper.  You  are  thrown  too  much  on  your 
mother  and  me  for  your  friendship,  and  I  am  not  sure 
that  either  of  us  is  suitable.  You  arc  at  an  impres- 
sionable time  of  life,  and  I  want  to  do  my  best  for 
you  ;  so  I  think  I  shall  send  you  to  some  school  where 
you  will  meet  nice  girls  and  form  friendships  that  you 
will  enjoy.  Then  you  have  a  decided  talent  for  music, 
which  will  be  developed,  and — there  are  many  reasons 
for  such  a  step." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  have  to  leave  home  ?  " 
asked  Edna,  with  a  tremour  in  her  voice. 

"  I  think  that  will  be  best.  In  a  year  or  two  you 
will  look  upon  life  with  perhaps  more  philosophy." 

"A  year  or  two!"  cried  Edna,  as  if  she  spoke  of 
eternity. 

Her  father  smiled. 

**  The  time  will  pass  very  quickly,"  he  said.  "  In  a 
year  or  two,  when  you  come  home,  both  your  mother 
and  you  will  be  glad  to  meet  each  other.  We  some- 
times grow  to  think  kindly  of  the  absent." 

The  girl  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

^'  Tut,  tut,  Edna,  my  own  little  girl ! "  cried  her 
father,  placing  his  chair  beside  hers  and  taking  her 
almost  in  his  arms.  "One  would  think  you  were  being 
sent  off  to  Africa.     I  imagined  you  would  be  glad." 

**  It  isn't  that,"  she  sobbed.  "  It  shows  how  dread- 
fully wicked  you  must  think  me  when  you  are  com- 
pelled to  send  me  away." 

**  Nonsense,  Edna!  It  shows  nothing  of  the  kind. 
I  can't  send  your  step-mother  to  boarding-school,  can 
I  ?  Well,  then !  I  don't  think  you  wicked  at  all.  I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  but  you  said  just  what 
you  were  provoked  to  saying.  There  now ;  see  what 
a  hopeless  admission  that  is  to  make  to  a  rebellious 
daughter.  No,  no.  I  am  not  blaming  you  in  the 
least.  As  I  said  before,  I  am  blaming  nobody.  We 
are  driven  by  circumstances,  that  is  all." 

"  And  am  I  never  to  see  you  except  when  I  come 
home?" 


ii 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


187 


^our 
sure 
pres- 
;  for 
here 
you 
lusic, 
isons 

ne  ? 

)  you 

»» 

J. 

ke  of 


'*  In  a 
lother 
some- 


id  her 
g  her 

being 

d." 

Idread- 
com- 


**  My  darling  girl,  that  is  the  delightful  part  of  it. 
You  will  see  me,  and  I  will  see  you,  practically  more 
often  than  we  do  now.  What  do  you  think  of  that? 
I  shall  select  some  excellent  school,  situated  in  a  brac- 
ing spot  near  the  sea.  I  believe  it  will  be  cheaper  for 
me  to  take  a  season  ticket  on  the  railway  there,  I  shall 
go  so  often.  We  will  take  long  walks  on  the  downs 
entirely  alone,  and  talk  of  everything.  We  will  have 
delightful  little  dinners  at  the  wayside  inns  we  dis- 
cover, and  now  and  then  a  grand  luncheon,  at  some 
very  expensive  place  with  a  window  that  looks  over 
the  Channel.  Edna,  it  will  be  the  rejuvenating  of 
your  old  father.  He  rarely  gets  a  sniff  of  ozone  as 
things  are  now,  but  then " 

Edna,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  flung  her  arms  around  his 
neck. 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  cried,  "  that  is  too  good  to  be 
true  !     When  can  I  go  ?  " 

"  This  very  week,  I  hope.  You  see  now  how  every- 
thing depends  on  the  point  of  view." 


KS 


■■*<  I 


kind. 
)1,  can 
ill.     I 
what 
what 
illious 
In  the 
We 


come 


^  •. 


< 


,fl 

',' 

»f 

*;• 

H' 

1 

■ill 

1             1 

111}  h 
Km  » 


■.ir.. 


I 


'"■  •»•'•  r 


r? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

With  the  words  "  starved  to  death  "  ringing  in  his 
ears,  Langly  walked  to  Chelsea.  Bitterly  he  accused 
himself  for  his  stupid  blindness  ;  all  this  had  been  go- 
ing on  for  days,  and  he  had  had  no  suspicion  of  it. 
She  had  from  the  first  undoubtedly  stinted  herself  so 
that  her  father  might  not  go  hungry,  and  when,  at  last, 
the  real  pinch  came,  she  was  too  weak  to  resist  it.  Her 
father,  isolated  by  his  temper  from  any  friends  who 
might  have  seen  what  was  happening  and  given  warn- 
ing in  time,  had  also  been  unconscious  of  what  was 
passing  before  his  eyes.  His  gruff  independence  had 
slowly  famished  his  own  daughter. 

"  Starved  to  death  !  "  in  the  richest  city  in  the  world, 
— the  granary  of  the  nations,  into  whose  ample  lap 
pours  the  golden  wheat  from  every  country  under  the 
sun  that  ripens  it. 

At  last  Langly  reached  the  studio,  and  might  have 
known,  had  he  been  conversant  with  the  habits  of  the 
great  world,  that  a  notable  function  was  in  progress 
thereabout  by  the  numerous  carriages,  with  fine  horses 
and  resplendent  coachmen  and  footmen,  that  waited 
wear  by.  In  his  earlier  days  Langly  had  hoped  for 
pupils  to  instruct  and  thus  increase  his  scanty  income. 
He  had  cards  printed — "  Albert  Langly,"  in  the  centre, 
and  "  Teacher  of  Music  "  in  smaller  type  in  the  corner. 
These  were  never  used,  Langly  not  having  the  cour- 
age to  push  his  inquiries  for  pupils  and  secure  them. 
He,  knowing  Barney  to  be  a  fashionable  man,  had 
put  some  of  these  cards  in  his  pocket,  and,  when  the 
boy  in  buttons  swung  open  the  door,  the  bit  of  paste- 
board was  handed  to  him.     The  boy  glanced  at  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


189 


a  his 
used 
n  go- 
of it. 
:lf  so 
t  last, 
Her 
3  who 
warn- 
Lt  was 
:e  had 

world, 
le  lap 
er  the 

have 

of  the 

ogress 

lorses 

aited 
ed  for 
icome. 
:entre, 
:orner. 
:  cour- 

them. 

had 

len  the 

paste- 

at  the 


w 


card,  dropped  it  into  the  receptacle  that  contained 
many  others,  and  shouted  the  name  up  his  stairway, 
wafting  its  ascent  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  The  man 
who  held  aside  the  heavy  drapery  which  covered  the 
doorway  bawled  the  name  into  the  room,  from  which 
a  confused  murmur  of  co'  versation  came,  mingled 
now  and  then  with  a  pleasing  ripple  of  laughter.  The 
ornamental  living  statue  at  the  top  of  the  stair  gazed 
dreamily  over  Langly's  head  as  he  mounted. 

Taking  another  card,  the  organist  gave  it  to  the 
man  at  the  door. 

"I  have  not  come  to  the  *At  Home,***  he  said. 
"Would  you  give  this  to  Mr.  Hope  and  ask  if  he  will 
see  me  for  a  moment.  Tell  him  I  called  last  night, 
and  could  not  come  earlier  to-day." 

The  man  took  the  card  and  disappeared  behind  the 
curtains.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  Barney  came 
out,  and  his  reception  of  the  musician  was  bewilder- 
ingly  effusive. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  placing  a  hand  on  each 
shoulder  of  Langly,  "  can  you  play  the  piano  ?  Of 
course  you  can.  What  a  foolish  question  to  ask  !  I 
always  alight  on  my  feet.  Providence  has  dropped 
you  down  here,  my  boy,  don't  you  know.  Here  we 
have  just  sent  out  to  scour  Chelsea  for  a  pianist,  and 
here  you  drop  right  down  from  the  skies,  don't  you 
know.  This  is  luck.  Want  to  see  me?  Of  course 
you  do,  and  what's  more  to  the  point,  I  want  to  see 
you,  don't  you  know!  Now  come  right  in.  I've  got 
the  finest  grand  piano  you  ever  fingered  in  your  life — 
magnificent  instrument — case  designed  by  myself — 
told  *em  to  spare  no  expense,  and  they  didn't,  don't 
you  know.  Trust  'em  for  that.  Now  come  in,  come 
in.*' 

"  Mr.  Hope,  I  did  not  come  to  play — I  am  in  no 
condition  for  playing." 

"  Of  course  you  didn't  come  to  play.  That's  the 
beauty  of  it.  You  want  something  from  me,  now 
don't  you  ?  " 


I 


.  v? 


I'     ''  <VF- 


190 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'(I 

'ill 


•» 


I" 


,  k'\t 


■M    M 


1 1«  ' 

'  1 

:  Htf  i' 

"Yes,  and  if  you  will  give  me  a  moment " 

**  A  thousand  of  'em,  my  boy,  a  thousand  of  'em,  but 
not  just  now.  Listen  to  me.  You  want  something 
I've  got,  and  I  want  something  you've  got.  Very 
well.  All  England's  prosperity  is  based  on  just  that 
position  of  things.  Our  commerce  is  founded  on  it. 
Our  mutual  country  is  great  merely  because  she  knows 
what  she  wants,  and  because  she  has  something  the 
other  fellow  wants,  don't  you  know  !  Now,  I  want  a 
man  wh(  \x\  play  dance  music,  and  I  want  him  now — 
not  to-m*  iTOw,  or  day  after,  or  next  week.  You  see 
what  I  mean  ?  Good.  You  come  in  and  polish  us  off 
some  waltzes  on  the  new  piano;  then,  when  it's  all  over, 
I'll  let  you  have  what  you  want,  if  it's  half  niy  king- 
dom, as  the  story-books  say.  Then  we  will  both  be 
happy,  don't  you  know." 

"  I  am  organist  at  St.  Martyrs  church.     I  can't " 

**  That's  all  right.  Don't  apologize.  You  can  play 
the  piano  as  well  as  the  organ — I  know  that  by  the 
look  of  you.     Come  in,  come  in." 

Barney  triumphantly  dragged  the  reluctant  musician 
after  him. 

"  I've  got  him,"  he  cried,  at  which  there  was  a 
clatter  of  applause  and  laughter. 

"  Now,  there,"  said  Barney  jubilantly,  seating 
Langly  before  the  grand  piano,  with  its  great  lid  like  a 
dragon's  wing  propped  up,  "  there's  all  the  sheet  music 
any  reasonable  man  can  want;  but  if  you  prefer  any- 
thing else  I'll  send  out  for  it  ;  and  there's  the  piano — 
*  Come  let  us  hear  its  tune,'  as  the  poet  says." 

The  rugs  which  usually  covered  the  waxed  floor 
had  been  cleared  away  ;  the  chairs  had  been  shoved 
into  corners  and  against  the  wall.  There  was  much 
laughter  and  many  protestations  that  they  had  not 
come  prepared  for  a  dance,  but  all  were  quite  notice- 
ably eager  for  the  fun  to  begin. 

"  You  see,  you  are  in  Bohemia,"  cried  Barney,  beam- 
ing joyously  on  his  many  guests,  "  and  the  delight  of 
Bohemia   is   unconventionality.     I    danced   after  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


191 


»» 


:ian 


loor 
)ved 
luch 
not 
Itice- 


;am- 

itof 

the 


theatre  till  daylight  this  morning,  and  I  am  as  ready 
as  ever  to  begin  again.  Shall  we  not  lunch  because 
we  have  breakfasted,  and  because  we  dine  at  seven  ? 
Not  so.  I  am  ready  for  a  dance  any  time  of  the  night 
or  day.  Now,  Mr.  Musician,  strike  up.  *0n  with  the 
dance,  let  joy  be  unconfined  ! '  as  the  poet  says." 

Langly  could  not  have  played  out  of  time  or  tune 
if  he  tried.  The  piano,  as  Barney  had  truly  said,  was 
a  splendid  instrument,  and  when  the  gay  waltz  music 
filled  the  large  room,  each  couple  began  to  float  lightly 
over  the  polished  floor.  The  musician  played  on  and 
on,  mechanically  yet  brilliantly,  and  in  the  pauses  be- 
tween the  dances  more  than  one  of  the  guests  spoke 
to  their  host  of  the  music's  excellence. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barney,  with  a  jaunty  wave  of  the 
hand,  "  he's  one  of  my  finds.  The  man's  a  genius, 
don't  you  know,  and  is  in  music  what  I  am  myself  in 
painting." 

"  Barney,  you  always  lay  it  on  too  thick,"  said  one 
of  the  young  men.  "  You'll  turn  the  pianist's  head 
with  flattery,  if  he  knows  you  consider  him  as  clever 
as  yourself." 

"  Perhaps  you  imagine  I'm  too  dense  to  see  through 
that  remark,"  said  Barney,  with  the  condescension  of 
true  g(;nius.  "  I  know  your  sneering  ways:  but  let 
me  tell  you  what  I  meant  was  that  both  the  musician 
and  myself  arc  unrecognized  by  the  mob  of  common- 
place people  of  whom  you  are  so  distinguished  a 
representative."  ("  I  flatter  myself  I  had  him  there," 
whispered  Barney,  aside,  to  the  lady  on  his  right.) 
"  Yes,  my  boy,  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  be 
proud  to  say  you  were  invited  to  there  receptions, 
which  I  intend  to  make  one  of  the  artistic  features 
of  London  society." 

"  Why,  Barney,"  protested  the  young  man,  "  I'm 
proud  of  it  now.  I  make  myself  objectionable  in  all 
my  clubs  by  continually  bragging  that  you  smile  upon 
me.  I  claim  that  you  are  in  art  what  the  Universal 
Provider  is  in  commerce." 


.    \ 


I*  ; 


192 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


fM 

'n 


m 


HI 


», 


1 » 


f  ^ 


'^*»  f, 


^.",|'    "VM 


'«'! 

T' 


fll 

> 


"  Do  get  him  to  play  something  while  we  are  rest- 
ing," murmured  the  lady,  thus  pouring  oil  on  the 
troubled  waters. 

Langly  sat  at  the  piano,  a  disconsolate  figure,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  the  hum  of  conversation  around 
him.  His  thoughts  were  far  away,  in  the  squalid  room 
where  the  dead  girl  lay.  Barney  bustled  up  to  him, 
and  the  musician  came  to  himself  with  a  start  on  be- 
ing spoken  to. 

"  Here  are  several  Hungarian  mazurkas — weird 
things — you'll  like  'em.  Just  polish  off  a  few  for  us 
while  we  have  some  tea,  will  you  ?  They  are  all  com- 
plimenting your  playing — they're  people  who  know  a 
good  thing  when  they  hear  it.  Won't  you  have  some 
refreshment  yourself  before  you  begin?  " 

Langly  shook  his  head,  and  began  playing  the 
Hungarian  music.  Barney  sat  down  again  beside  the 
lady,  smiling  with  satisfaction  at  being  able  to  pose 
as  the  patron  of  so  accomplished  a  musician.  The 
lady  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand,  and  listened  in- 
tently. 

"  How  marvellously  he  does  those  mazurkas !  "  she 
whispered,  softly.  "  He  brings  out  that  diabolical 
touch  which  seems  to  be  in  much  of  the  Polish  and 
Hungarian  music." 

"Yes,"  assented  Barney,  cordially,  "he  does  play 
like  the  devil,  yet  he  is  an  organist  in  a  church.  Ah, 
well,  I  suppose  Beelzebub  looks  after  our  music  as  he 
does  our  morals." 

"  Has  he  composed  anything?  " 

"Who?     Satan?" 

"  No,  no.  You  know  very  well  I'm  speaking  of  the 
organist." 

"  Composed  !  Well,  rather.  He's  an  unrecognized 
genius,  but  I'm  going  to  look  after  his  recognition. 
I'm  going  to  bring  out  some  of  his  works,  if  he'll  let 
me.     He's  a  very  modest  man,  and " 

"  Another  likeness  to  yourself." 

.'*  Exactly,  exactly.     I'm  always  pushing  other  peo- 


t 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


193 


in- 

she 

)Ucal 

and 

play 

Ah, 

las  he 


)f  the 

tnized 
Lition. 
t'll  let 


Ir  peo- 


ple forward  and  neglecting  my  own  interests  ;  still,  1*11 
arrive  some  of  these  days  and  astonish  you  all,  don't 
you  know.  You  see  our  sec  doe&n't  produce  men  of 
genius  like  that  organist.  The  *  upper  ten  '  never  pro- 
duced a  Shakespeare." 

"I  thought  it  did.  Didn't  Lord  Bacon  write 
Shakespeare  ?  " 

"  No,  he  didn't.  I've  looked  up  that  question,  but 
there's  nothing  in  it,  don't  you  know.  No,  the  really 
great  men  come  from  the  common  people.  The  world 
doesn't  know  where  to  look  for  them,  but  I  do,  and  I 
find  'em  just  as  I  found  this  man.  I  go  for  my  society 
to  the  aristocracy,  but  for  my  geniuses  to  the  democ- 
racy." 

"  But  if  society  does  not  produce  great  men,  how  do 
you  hope  to  become  the  greatest  of  painters?  " 

"  Ah,  painting's  a  different  thing,  don't  you  know  ; 
it  has  always  been  the  gentleman's  art.  Leonardo  and 
all  of  those  chaps  were  great  swells.  Rubens — or  was 
it  Titian  ? — one  of  them,  anyhow,  went  as  ambassador 
to  the  court  of  Spain  in  great  pomp.  Painters  have 
always  been  the  companions  of  kings.  But  I  say,  let 
us  have  another  dance." 

Once  more  the  dreamy  waltz  music  mingled  with 
the  swish-swish  of  silken  skirts,  sibilant  on  the 
polished  floor.  Langly  nearly  always  lost  himself  in 
whatever  music  he  played,  but  now  it  merely  dulled 
his  sorrow,  and  an  undertone  of  deep  grief  lay  beneath 
the  frivolous  harmony  that  rippled  so  smoothly  and 
sweetly  from  the  piano — an  undertone  heard  by  none 
save  himself.  Merry  laughter,  and  now  and  then  a 
whispered  phrase  as  the  dancers  swung  close  to  where 
he  sat,  fell  on  his  unheeding  ear,  and  he  wished  his 
task  were  done,  so  that  he  might  face  again  the  long 
walk  lying  before  him.  He  chided  himself  as  being 
ungrateful,  when  it  seemed  hard  that  at  this  time  he 
should  be  called  upon  to  minister  to  the  amusement 
of  a  pleasure-loving  party  ;  for  he  remembered  that 
the  Hebrew  had  toiled  seven  years  uncomplaining  for 


2« 

Ml 


"i 


III 

'X 


If 


If 

\n 


fr 


w ' 

n*  , 

ti^  1' . 

r-^ 

«/v.  , 

»«h  '. 

;*« 

<<i(i  ;  ..^ 

"W  .,, 

194 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


the  woman  he  loved  :  so  why  should  he  grudge  an 
afternoon,  when  the  object  was  practically  the  same, 
although  hope  cheered  the  longer  task,  and  despair 
clouded  the  shorter.  Each  in  his  way  laboured  for 
his  love,  living  and  dead. 

The  heavy  hand  of  Barney  came  down  boisterously 
on  the  thinly  clad  shoulder  of  the  phiyer,  and  partially 
aroused  him  from  his  bitter  reverie. 

"  First  rate,  my  boy,  firL-t  rate  !  You've  done  nobly, 
and  every  one  is  delighted — charmed! — they  are  m- 
deed,  I  assure  you.  Now  they're  saying  good-by,  so 
give  us  a  rousing  march  for  the  farewell — anything  you 
like — something  of  your  own  would  be  just  the  thing; 
you  know  what  I  mean — a  march  with  a  suggestion  of 
regret  in  it — sorry  they're  going,  don't  you  know." 

Barney  hurried  back  to  his  guests,  shaking  hands, 
asking  them  to  come  again,  and  receiving  gushing 
thanks  for  a  most  agreeable  afternoon.  Suddenly 
there  knelled  forth  on  the  murmur  of  farewell  the 
solemn  notes  of  the  Funeral  March,  like  *^he  measured 
toll  of  a  passing-bell.  The  metallic  cla.  ^,our  of  the 
instrument  gave  a  vibrant  thrill  to  the  sombre  music, 
which  was  lacking  in  the  smooth,  round  tones  of  the 
organ.  Langly  pla^^ed  like  a  man  entranced,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  pale  face  turned  upward,  looking  as 
if  life  had  left  it.  An  instantaneous  chilling  hush  fell 
on  the  assemblage,  as  if  an  icy  wind  had  swept 
through  the  room,  freezing  into  silence  the  animated 
stream  of  conversation.  Some  shivered  where  they 
stood,  and  one  girl,  clasping  her  cloak  at  her  throat, 
paused  and  said,  half  hysterically  : 

"  If  this  is  a  joke,  Mr.  Hope,  I  must  say  I  don't  like 
it." 

"  Cursed  bad  taste,  if  you  ask  me,"  muttered  one 
man,  hurrying  away. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  cried  Barney,  as  much  shocked  as  any 
one  at  the  inopportune  incident,  and  striding  toward 
the  performer,  as  soon  as  his  wits  came  to  him,  "  we 
didn't  want  a  dirge,  don't  you  know." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


195 


cad 
iC  as 
fell 
^ept 
iated 
Ithey 
Iroat, 

like 


one 


any 
ard 


Iw 


it 


we 


The  lady  who  had  spoken  in  praise  of  Langly's 
music  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  Barney's  arm. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said  gently,  the  glimmer  of  tears  in 
her  eyes,  "  don't  stop  him.  Listen  !  That  man  is 
inspired.  I  never  heard  Chopin  played  like  that 
before." 

"Oh,  it's  Chopin,  is  it?''  murmured  Barney,  apolo- 
getically, as  if,  had  he  known  it,  he  would  not  have 
interfered. 

The  throng  dissolved  rapidly  with  the  unwelcome 
chords  ringing  in  their  ears,  leaving  Barney  and  his 
guest  standing  there  alone.  Langly,  on  finishing  the 
march,  sat  where  he  was,  his  long  arms  drooping  by 
his  side. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  speak  to  him  ?  "  asked  Bar- 
ney. 

"  No,  not  now." 

The  lady  stole  softly  out,  Barney  following  her  to 
the  landing  at  the  head  of  the  stair. 

"  Please  don't  lose  sight  of  him,"  she  said,  giving 
Barney  her  hand.  "  I  want  you  to  ask  him  here  again, 
and  let  me  invite  the  guest  ." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Barney,  enthusiastically.  **  That 
will  be  awfully  jolly." 

"  No,  it  won't  be  jolly,  Mr.  Hope,  but  we'll  hear 
some  enchanting  music.     Good-by  ! " 

Barney  re-entered  the  room,  and  found  Langly 
standing  beside  the  piano  like  a  man  awakened 
from  a  dream,  apparently  not  quite  knowing  where  he 
was. 

"  You  must  have  something  to  drink,"  cried  Barney, 
cordially.  "  You  look  fagged  out,  and  no  wonder. 
I  never  heard  Chopin  so  well  rendered  before.  I  tell 
you,  my  boy,  you  get  all  out  of  a  piano  that's  in  it, 
don't  you  know.  Now,  will  you  have  whiskey  or 
brandy  ?  " 

Langly  thanked  him,  but  refused  either  beverage. 
He  had  a  long  walk  before  him,  and  was  anxious  to 
get  away,  he  said. 


'11  , 


Ki  fl^ 


ftf" 


i 


196 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■':,  -Jl^    ^ 


iti 


■1"*. 


mil  ■'■■ 


H 


"S. 


•lil 


"? 


r> 


"  Walk  !  "  cried  Barney.  "  Nonsense  !  Why  should 
you  walk,  and  thus  insult  every  self-respecting 
cabby  you  meet?  I'll  see  about  the  walking;  I 
hope  I  know  my  duty  towards  the  hansom  indus- 
try." 

Barney  touched  an  electric  bell,  and  when  his  man 
appeared  said  to  him  : 

"  Just  send  Buttons  to  the  King's  Road  for  a  han- 
som. When  it  comes,  give  the  cabby  ten  shillings 
and  tell  him  he  belongs  to  his  fare  for  four  hours. 
Ask  him  to  wait  at  the  door  till  his  fare  comes,  and 
meanwhile,  bring  in  some  whiskey  and  soda.  Now, 
Mr.  Organist — I  always  forget  names — ah,  Langly, 
here  it  is  on  the  card,  of  course.  Have  you  ever 
composed  any  music  yourself?  I  thought  so.  Ever 
published  any  ?  I  thought  not.  Well,  my  boy, 
we  must  remedy  all  that.  You're  too  modest ;  I  can 
see  that.  Now,  modesty  doesn't  pay  in  London. 
I  know,  because  I  suffer  from  it  myself.  Heavens  !  if 
I  only  had  the  cheek  of  some  men,  I  would  be  the 
most  famous  painter  in  Europe.  If  you  bring  a  few 
of  your  compositions  to  me,  I'll  get  a  publisher  for 
you.  Will  you  promise?  Nonsense!  not  worthy? 
Bosh!  Compared  with  the  great  composers?  My 
dear  fellow,  the  great  composers  were  all  very  well  in 
their  way,  I've  no  doubt,  but  they  were  once  poor 
devils  like  you.  Because  Raphael  painted,  is  that  any 
reason  why  I  should  not  improve  on  him  ?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  You  and  I  will  be  old  masters  in  painting  and 
music  some  few  centuries  hence — you  just  wait  and 
see.  The  great  point  is  to  realize  that  you're  an  old 
master  while  you're  young  and  can  do  something.  If 
you  don't  recognize  the  fact  yourself,  you  may  be 
jolly  well  sure  no  one  else  will — at  least,  not  in  time 
to  do  you  any  good  here  below.  Do  have  some  whis- 
key ;  *  it's  cheering  and  comforting,'  as  the  advertise- 
ments say.     Well,  here's  to  you  !  " 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hope,"  stammered  Langly, 
diffidently,  "  because   Marsten — one  of  your  father's 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


19; 


for 


poor 
[t  any 

a  bit 
and 
and 

in  old 
If 

ly  be 
time 
whis- 
irtise- 

ingly, 
ither's 


employees — told  me  he  thought  you  might — that  you 
were  good  enough  to  help  once " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  Marsten.  He  was  here  about 
some  fellow  knocking  down  a  few  policemen.  Well — 
has  he  knocked  down  some  more?  " 

"  No,  but  he  is  in  great  trouble,  Mr.  Hope." 

"  Such  a  man  is  sure  to  be.  How  much  is  the 
fine?" 

"  His  only  daughter  died  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it — very  sorry,  in- 
deed." 

"  He  has  no  money,  and  none  of  the  men  have  any. 
Braunt  would  ask  no  one  for  help,  but  I  know  that  he 

fears  there  will  have  to  be  a He  doesn't  want  her 

to  be  buried  as  a  pauper — and  I  thought " 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  I  see  it  all.  I  never  could 
understand  the  feeling  of  the  poor  on  that  subject. 
They  seem  to  like  a  fine  funeral,  as  if  that  mattered. 
I  confess  that  if  you  give  me  good  company  while  I'm 
alive,  you  may  do  what  you  please  with  me  when  I'm 
dead.  I  would  just  as  soon  lie  beside  a  pauper  as  a 
prince,  but  I  prefer  the  prince  when  I'm  above  ground. 
Now,  how  much  will  be  needed  ?  Of  course  you  don't 
know;  no  more  do  I.  Let  u'-  say  fifteen  pounds;  if 
more  is  wanted,  just  telegraph  me  and  I'll  send  it  by 
messenger  at  once,  don't  you  know.  No,  you  mustn't 
think  of  sending  any  of  it  back.  Use  the  surplus,  if 
there  is  a  surplus,  for  some  charity  or  another.  But 
you  must  come  back  yourself,  and  we'll  have  a  tall'  on 
music.  Drop  in  any  time — there's  no  ceremony  '  'e. 
And  just  write  your  address  on  this  card,  so  tiiac  I 
may  communicate  with  you.  I  promised  a  lady  to 
have  you  here  some  day  to  play  for  a  few  friends. 
You  won't  disappoint  me,  will  you  ?  Thanks,  I'm 
ever  so  much  obliged." 

"  The  hansom  is  here,  sir,"  said  the  man,  entering. 

"All  right.  I'll  just  see  you  into  your  cab,  Mr. — er 
— Langly.  No  trouble  at  all ;  don't  mention  it.  You 
can  make  this  fellow  drive  you  around  for  four  hours, 


'^:i 


"''; 


'I 


1 1  •'    ■ 

ui  ,    ■    ■ 

u' 

*i'-«    ■ 

1 


'**« «.. 


198 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


if  you  want  to.  He'd  take  you  to  Brighton  in  that 
time,  so  I  suppose  he'll  land  you  anywhere  in  Lon- 
don in  short  order.  Well,  good-by,  my  dear  fellow, 
and  I  thank  you   ever    so   much   for  your   exquisite 


music. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


After  the  burial  of  his  daughter,  Braunt  sat  in  his 
lonely  room  and  pondered  bitterly  upon  the  failure 
his  life  had  been,  ever  since  he  could  remember. 
Hard  and  incessant  toil  he  did  not  complain  of :  that 
was  his  lot,  and  it  had  been  the  lot  of  his  fathers. 
He  was  able  to  work  and  willing ;  the  work  was  there 
waiting  to  be  done :  yet,  through  the  action  of  men 
over  whom  he  had  not  the  slightest  control,  he  was 
doomed  to  idleness  and  starvation  until  the  capricious 
minds  of  others  changed,  and  the  signal  was  given  to 
pick  up  the  tools  that  had  been  so  heedlessly  dropped. 

"  Ah'U  not  stand  it ! "  he  cried  aloud,  bringing  his 
fist  down  on  the  empty  table. 

But  after  these  momentary  flashes  of  determination, 
the  depression  habitual  to  him  settled  down  with 
increased  density  upon  his  mind,  and,  realizing  how 
helpless  he  was,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
groaned  in  hopeless  despair.  It  is  difificult  for  a  starv- 
ing man  to  be  brave  for  long.  What  could  he  do? 
Absolutely  nothing.  He  might  drop  dead  from  ex- 
haustion before  he  got  a  chance  to  earn  a  meal, 
though  he  tramped  the  huge  city  searching  for  work. 
The  trade  he  knew  was  already  overcrowded  with 
thousands  of  men,  eager  for  the  place  he  had  been 
compelled  to  abandon.  Even  the  street  crossings 
were  owned  by  impoverished  wretches  who  earned 
what  living  they  got  by  sweeping  them.  If  he  were 
presented  with  a  crossing,  he  had  not  the  money  to 
buy  a  broom.  Gibbons,  fool  though  he  might  be, 
spoke  the  truth  when  he  said  a  workingman  was  but 


,•1 


■■^ 


f* 
ii 

;;♦(*, 


iiil 


Ihl  '.'■  t  -l 


111 

« 

ir 

if' 

1 ;,.     '     f. 

tpi 

k,  '>  •  , 

t« 

1,     * 

;■"' 

r, 

'.v.»»,    , 


'-i. 


>»« 


Ij; 

ill 

( 

i 

JMlii 

|X!^   ^mB  ,■ 

P  t' 

200 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


a  cog  in  a  large  wheel :  the  wheel  might  get  a  new  cog, 
or  a  new  set  of  cogs,  but  the  cog  separated  from  the 
wheel  was  as  useless  as  a  bit  of  old  iron. 

Langly  stole  softly  in  upon  his  stricken  friend,  clos- 
ing the  door  stealthily  after  him,  with  the  bearing  of 
a  man  about  to  commit  a  crime  and  certain  of  being 
caught.  Braunt  gave  him  no  greeting,  but  glowered 
upon  him  from  under  his  frowning,  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"  There  is  some  money  here  that  you  are  to  take," 
said  the  organist  timidly,  placing  a  heap  of  coins  on 
the  table. 

Braunt,  with  an  angry  gesture,  swept  away  the  pile, 
and  the  silver  jingled  on  the  floor. 

"  Ah'U  have  none  o*  thy  money,  as  AhVe  told  *ee 
before !  "  he  roared.  "  Ah  can  earn  ma  money,  if  Ah 
boot  get  th  chance." 

Langly,  with  no  word  of  remonstrance,  stooped  and 
patiently  collected  every  scattered  piece. 

"  It  is  not  my  money,"  he  said,  on  rising.  "  It  was 
sent  to  you,  and  is  for  you  and  for  no  one  else.  It 
belongs  to  you:  I  have  no  right  to  it,  and  this  very 
money  you  yourself  have  earned.  I  don't  know  who 
has  a  better  claim  to  it." 

Again  placing  the  silver  and  gold  on  the  table, 
Langly  tiptoed  out  of  the  room  in  some  haste,  before 
Braunt  could  collect  his  wits  and  make  reply. 

The  Yorkshireman,  with  curious  inconsistency,  had 
accepted  without  question  the  money  which  had  saved 
his  child  from  a  pauper  funeral,  although  he  must 
have  known,  had  he  reflected,  that  the  expenses  were 
paid  by  some  one  ;  yet  charity  which  did  not  come 
direct  awakened  no  resentment  in  his  turbulent  nature, 
while  the  bald  offer  of  money  or  food  sent  him  in- 
stantly into  a  tempest  of  anger. 

He  thought  over  the  organist's  words.  How  could 
the  money  be  his  ?  How  had  he  earned  the  coins  ? 
His  slow  brain  gradually  solved  the  problem  •  the 
money  evidently  had  come  from  Hope  or  Monkton,  or 
perhaps  from  Sartwell.     He  cursed  the  three  of  them. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


20 1 


had 
ived 
nust 
,vere 
ome 
ure, 
in- 

lould 
]ins? 
the 
In,  or 

lem, 


together  and  separate,  and  in  his  rage  once  more 
scattered  the  heap  to  the  floor.  The  coins  whirled 
hither  and  thither,  at  last  spinning  to  rest  on  the  bare 
boards.  Braunt  watched  them  as  they  lay  there  glit- 
tering in  the  dim  light,  his  mind  ceasing  to  cogitate 
on  the  respective  culpability  of  employers  or  employed 
for  the  state  of  things  under  which  he  suffered.  He 
had  formerly  thought  of  Monkton  and  Hope  as  purse- 
proud,  haughty  capitalists,  until  he  saw  their  cringing, 
frightened  demeanour  when  escorted  out  of  the  works 
by  the  policemen,  and  since  that  time  he  had  been 
endeavouring  to  reconstruct  his  ideas  concerning  them. 
So,  after  all,  why  should  he  refuse  to  take  money 
from  them  if  one  or  other  had  sent  it?  He  gazed  at 
the  coins  on  the  floor,  white  splotches  and  yellow 
points  of  light,  hitching  round  his  chair  the  better  to 
see  them.  He  had  heard  that  a  man  might  be  hypno- 
tized by  gazing  steadily  on  a  silver  piece  held  in  the 
palm.  As  Braunt  watched  the  coins  intently,  he 
passed  his  hand  swiftly  across  his  brow,  concentrating 
his  gaze  by  half  closing  his  eyes.  He  leaned  forward 
and  downward.  Surely  they  were  moving,  edging 
closer  to  each  other,  the  larger  heaps  attracting  the 
various  atoms  of  metal,  as  he  remembered,  with  be- 
wildered brain,  was  the  case  with  money  all  the  world 
over,  which  gave  a  plausible  cause,  such  as  one  has  in 
dreams,  for  the  coins  creeping  together,  although  what 
was  left  of  his  reason  told  him  that  it  was  all  an 
illusion.  The  sane  and  insane  sections  of  his  mind 
struggled  for  mastery,  while  Braunt  leaned  closer  and 
closer  over  the  money,  sitting  forward  now  on  the 
very  edge  of  his  chair,  breathing  hard,  almost  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  strange  movement  on  the  floor,  and 
gradually  losing  interest  in  the  mental  conflict  regard- 
ing the  reality  of  what  his  strained,  unwinking  eyes 
told  him  was  going  on  at  his  feet.  At  last  he  noticed 
that  the  heap  was  slowly  but  perceptibly  sliding  away 
from  him.  All  doubts  about  the  geniuneness  of  what 
he  saw  vanished     The  money  was  trying  to  escape. 


«  ' 


• ,  J 


ji '" 


y* 


202 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


it:    ':< 


'I  >'• 


i*  t' 


«,,'', 


V'^y. 


He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  jumped  to  the  door,  plac- 
ing his  back  against  it. 

'•  Oh,  no,"  he  shouted,  "  you're  mine,  you're  mine  ! " 

Crouching  down,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
coins,  he  got  upon  his  hands  and  knees,  crawling 
towards  them  craftily ;  then  pounced  suddenly  on  the 
main  heap,  while  the  isolated  pieces  scuttled  back  to 
their  former  positions,  pretending  they  had  never 
shifted  their  places.  He  laughed  sneeringly  at  their 
futile  attempts  to  deceive  him,  poured  the  heap  into 
his  pocket,  and  captured  each  separate  coin  that  re- 
mained, by  springing  upon  it.  He  searched  the  whole 
room  like  some  animal,  nosing  into  the  corners, 
crouching  lower  and  proceeding  more  cautiously  when 
he  spied  a  silver  or  gold  piece  that  had  rolled  far, 
chuckling  when  he  seized  it  and  placed  it  with  the 
others.  At  last  he  rose  to  his  feet,  slapping  his 
pocket  joyously,  and  making  the  money  jingle.  Once 
erect,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  making  him 
dizzy.  He  staggered,  and  leaned  against  the  wall, 
all  his  hilarity  leaving  him.  The  room  seemed  to 
swim  around  him,  and  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands. 

"  Ah'm  gooin'  mad,"  he  whispered.  "  Ah  moost 
ha*  summat  ta  eat — or  drink." 

Braunt  staggered  through  the  doorway  to  the  pas- 
sage and  down  the  stair,  out  into  the  open  air,  which 
revived  him  and  made  him  feel  the  nip  of  hunger 
again.  Once  on  Light  Street,  he  turned  into  the 
"  Rose  and  Crown,"  and  asked  for  a  mug  of  beer.  The 
barman  hesitated.  The  credit  of  the  strikers  had  long 
since  gone. 

*•  I'd  like  to  see  the  colour  of  your  money,"  he  said, 
gruffly. 

**AhVe  no  money.  Ah'U  pay  thee  next  week; 
ah'm  goin'  to  put  a  stop  ta  the  strike  to-day." 

He  brought  down  his  open  palm  against  his  trousers 
pocket  to  emphasize  his  poverty,  and  was  startled  by 
the  clink  of  coins.     He  thrust  his  hand  down  into  his 


i* 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


203 


leek ; 

isery 
by 
his 


pocket,  and  pulled  out  some  silver,  gazing  at  it  stu- 
pidly. 

"Ma  word,"  he  gasped  at  last,  "Ah  thought  Ah 
dreamt  it !  " 

The  barman  laughed,  and  reached  for  an  empty  mug, 
grasping  the  beer-pump  handle. 

"That  dream's  good  enough  for  the  'Crown,'"  he 
said.     "  Better  have  some  bread  and  cheese  with  it." 

"  Yes.     Be  quick,  man." 

Standing  there,  Braunt  ate  and  drank  ravenously. 

"  I  can  get  you  a  plate  of  cold  meat,"  said  the  bar- 
man, seeing  how  hungry  the  man  was.  The  other 
nodded,  and  the  plate,  with  knife  and  fork,  was  placed 
before  him. 

"So  the  strike's  off,  is  it?"  said  the  man,  leaning 
his  arms  on  the  bar. 

"  It'll  be  off  when  Ah  get  there." 

"  Well,  it's  not  a  minute  too  soon.  Our  trade's 
suffered." 

"  More  than  your  trade  has  suffered.,  worse  luck. 
Dom  little  you'll  do  for  a  man,  unless  the  money's  in 
ta  pouch." 

"  Oh,  if  it  comes  to  that,  neither  will  other  people. 
We're  not  giving  out-door  relief,  any  more  than  our 
neighbours." 

Braunt  ate  his  food  and  drank  his  beer,  but  made 
nn  reply.  The  barman's  attitude  was  commercially 
coirect;  no  one  could  justly  find  fault  with  it.  Money 
was  the  master-key  of  the  universe  ;  it  unlocked  all 
doors.  The  barman  did  not  care  how  Braunt  came 
by  it,  so  long  as  he  paid  for  what  was  ordered  ;  and 
the  workman  now  found  that  courage  was  taking  the 
place  of  despair,  merely  because  he  had  money  in 
his  pocket.  He  felt  that  now  he  had  energy  enough 
to  cope  with  the  strikers,  simply  because  he  had  fed 
while  they  were  hungry.  He  would  wait  for  no 
meeting,  but  would  harangue  the  men  on  the  street, 
those  of  them  that  were  assembled  in  futile  numbers 
around  the  closed  gates,  and  most  of  them  were  sure 


.    \ 


m 


<i 


'il; 


til  ■■    i  J  ■. 


^1 


>lr 


i  < 


1. 


>»« 


N« 


204 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


to  be  there.  If  Gibbons  opposed,  he  would  settle  the 
question  by  promptly  and  conclusively  knocking  him 
down — an  argument  easily  comprehended  by  all  on- 
lookers. 

Braunt  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  lips 
when  he  had  finished  his  meal,  and  departed  for  the 
works.  He  found,  as  he  expected,  the  despondent 
men  standing  there,  with  hands  hopelessly  thrust  deen 
in  their  empty  pockets.  Their  pipes  were  as  smoke- 
less as  the  tall  chimneys  of  the  factory,  and  that  of 
itself  showed  that  their  condition  was  at  its  lowest 
ebb.  They  were  listening  with  listless  indifference 
to  a  heated  altercation  going  on  between  Gibbons 
and  Marsten,  as  if  the  subject  discussed  did  not  con- 
cern them. 

"You  might  have  played  that  card  last  week," 
Marsten  cried,  "  but  it  is  too  late  now.  You  can  have 
no  conference  with  the  owners.  I  tell  you  they  have 
left  the  country,  and  won't  return  for  a  fortnight,  and 
by  that  time  the  works  will  be  filled  with  new  men. 
The  new  men  are  coming  in  on  Monday.  I  demand 
that  the  committee  call  a  meeting  now  and  that  a 
vote  be  taken." 

*'  Don't  mind  him,  men  !  "  cried  Gibbons.  "  He's  in 
Sartwell's  pay." 

The  men  didn't  mind  him,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  Gibbons  either.  What  they  wanted  was  some- 
thing to  eat  and  drink,  with  tobacco  to  smoke  after- 
wards. If  Marsten  was  in  Sartwell's  pay,  they  would 
gladly  have  changed  places  with  him.  Braunt  made 
his  way  roughly  through  the  crowd,  elbowing  the 
men  rudely  aside.  None  resented  this ;  all  the  fight 
had  gone  out  of  them.  Marsten  seemed  on  the 
point  of  attacking  Gibbons  for  the  slanderous  remark 
made,  when  he  felt  Braunt's  heavy  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  The  time  is  past  for  meetings,  lad,"  said  the  big 
man,  "  and  for  talk  too.  The  meeting's  here,  and 
Ah'U  deal  with  it.     Stop  bothering  with  that  fool,  and 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


205 


le  big 
and 
ll,  and 


stand  among  the  crowd,  ready  to  back  me  up  if  need 
be." 

Marsten  at  once  did  as  requested,  while  Braunt 
strode  across  the  open  space,  in  spite  of  the  warning 
of  a  policeman  to  stand  back. 

Few  of  the  force  were  on  the  ground  ;  the  author- 
ities saw  there  was  little  to  fear  from  cowed  and 
beaten  men. 

"You'll  have  to  stand  back,"  said  the  officer,  "or 
I'll  take  you  in  charge." 

"Will  you  so?"  cried  Braunt  truculently,  rolling 
up  his  sleeves  as  he  turned  upon  his  opponent.  "  Then 
I  warn  you,  send  for  help.  You  haven't  men  enough 
here  to  take  me  in  charge.     Ah've  had  a  meal  to-day." 

After  glaring  for  a  moment,  Braunt  turned  and 
strode  unmolested  to  the  closed  gate. 

The  officer  paid  heed  to  the  advice  given  him  and 
sent  for  more  men.  He  saw  there  was  to  be  trouble 
of  some  sort. 

Braunt  smote  his  huge  fist  against  the  panels  and 
roared  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"  Open  the  gates  !  " 

A  slight  flutter  of  listless  interest  seemed  to  pass 
over  the  crowd.  The  men  elbowed  closer  together, 
shuffling  their  feet  and  craning  their  necks  forward. 
Those  to  the  rear  pressed  towards  the  front,  wonder- 
ing what  was  about  to  happen.  The  few  policemen 
looked  on  without  interfering,  waiting  for  reinforce- 
ments. Braunt  beat  with  his  fist  against  the  sound- 
ing timbers,  the  rhythmic  thuds  being  the  only  break 
ir  he  stillness  except  when  he  repeated  his  stento- 
rian cry,  "  Open  the  gates !  " 

The  porter  at  the  small  wicket,  fearing  an  attack, 
ran  for  Sartwell,  and  met  the  manager  coming  down 
the  stairs. 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  going  to  be  another  riot,  sir," 
said  the  porter,  breathlessly. 

Sartwell  did  not  answer,  but  walked  quickly  to  the 
small  gate,  unbolted  it,  and  stepped  out. 


"  ^   ; 

•lit        ,' 


% 
••«« 


>■«*■ 


206 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I' 


<  < 


iM  '■    '•;   * 


>l, 


Hit 


^'^ 


"What  do  you  want?  "  he  said. 

"  We  want  our  work !  "  cried  Braunt.  "  Open  the 
gates ! " 

Sartwell's  glance  swept  swiftly  over  the  men,  who 
stood  with  jaws  dropped,  their  gaunt  faces  and  wolf- 
ish eyes  turned  towards  the  closed  barriers.  The 
manager  quickly  comprehended  that  it  was  no  time  for 
discussion  or  arranging  of  terms.  What  was  needed 
was  action,  sharp  and  prompt.  He  turned  towards  the 
trembling  porter,  and  said  peremptorily : 

"Throw  down  the  bar!  " 

Whatever  doubts  the  man  may  have  had  about  the 
wisdom  of  such  an  order  in  the  face  of  t^  o  hostile 
mob,  he  preferred  to  brave  probable  danger  from  the 
crowd  rather  than  the  certain  wrath  of  the  manager, 
and  obeyed  the  command  with  haste.  The  heavy 
gates  were  slowly  pushed  open. 

"  Now,  men,  in  with  you  !  "  cried  Braunt,  with  a 
scythe-like  swing  of  his  long  arm.  "  The  man  that 
holds  back  now — ah,  God  ! — Ah'll  break  his  back  !  " 

Some  one  stumbled  forward,  as  if  pushed  from  be- 
hind ;  then  it  was  as  if  an  invisible  rope,  holding  the 
crowd  back,  had  suddenly  broken.  The  men  poured 
through  the  open  gateway  in  a  steady  stream.  Gib- 
bons, waving  his  hands  like  a  maniac,  cried  : 

"  Stop  !     Stop  !     Listen  to  me  f  r  a  moment !  " 

But  no  one  stopped,  and  no  one  listened.  Braunt, 
his  face  white  with  anger,  struggled  against  the  incom- 
ing tide,  shouting: 

"  Let  me  get  at  him  !     Ah'll  strangle  the  whelp  !  " 

"  Braunt !  "  said  Sartwell  sharply,  iiis  voice  cutting 
through  the  din  of  shuffling  boots.  "Leave  him 
alone,  and  get  inside  yourself.  Gather  the  men  to- 
gether in  the  yard.     I  want  a  word  with  them." 

Braunt's  truculence  at  once  disappeared.  He 
turned  with  the  men,  and  came  to  where  Sartwell 
SI  lod  looking  grimly  at  the  moving  throng.  No  one 
glanced  towards  his  master,  but  each  went  doggedly 
forward,  with  head  down  as  though  doing  something 


Ic 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY.                 207 

i. 

he    was  ashamed    of.     Braunt   stopped    at    Sartwell's 

r 

tting 
him 
L   to- 


one 
edly 
Ithing 


side  and  whispered  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  Manager,  set  them  at  work,  and 
don't  talk  to  them.  They're  beaten,  and  there's  no 
more  to  be  said.  Be  easy  with  them  ;  there's  been 
talk  enough."  <■ 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Sartwell,  in  kindly 
manner.  Don't  be  afraid,  but  gather  them  together. 
You  have  the  voice  for  it.  I  heard  your  first  shout  at 
the  gates  in  my  office." 

As  the  last  man  passed  through,  Sartwell  heard 
Braunt  calling  them  to  halt.  A  few  still  remained  out- 
side,—Scimmins  and  his  fellow-members  of  the  strike 
committee,  listening  gloomily  to  Gibbons's  frantic  de- 
nunciation of  the  wholesale  defection.  The  manager 
stepped  inside,  and  ordered  the  wondering  porter  to 
close  the  gates. 

As  Sartwell  walked  briskly  towardb  the  works  he 
saw  the  men  huddled  together  like  sheep,  very  crest- 
fallen, and  evidently  ready  to  endure  any  censure  the 
manager  saw  fit  to  launch  at  their  defenceless  heads. 
Braunt,  towering  over  them,  looked  anxiously  about 
him,  with  the  air  of  a  huge  dog  not  quite  certain  how 
his  flock  would  behave. 

Sartwell  mounted  the  steps  leading  to  the  door  of 
the  former  office,  and  spoke. 

"  I  take  it,  men,"  he  said,  "  that  this  strike  is  off.  I 
want  to  begin  fair  and  square  ;  so,  if  there  is  any 
among  you  unwilling  to  go  back  to  work  on  my  terms, 
let  him  sta.id  out  now  and  say  so." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  the  silence 
was  unbroken.     No  one  stepped  out. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  the  manager.  "  That's 
settled  and  done  with.  Now  each  man  knows  his 
place  in  these  buildings  ;  let  him  get  there,  and  remain 
for  further  instructions.  No  work  will  be  done  to-day, 
as  some  preparation  is  required  before  we  begin.  You 
will  come  to-morrow  at  the  usual  hour,  and,  after  ar- 
rangements for  work  have  been  made,  you  may  each 


4t 


11   ^^ 


4f  ^! 


11 


m  ^ 


■it,  ^      .,,  , 


?>*l  *  '■'■  " 


K, 


II  ill 


'?*?*» 
»» 


»««..'■■*  *-^ 


•»•! 


k: 


f»< 


f    1*4 


208 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'fl 

f 

kP■■^'* 

i 

^*l»« 
^%.>* 

*J) 

.    VU 

! 

''     'rf 

P 

'■■ :'' 

a, 

draw  half  a  week's  wages  in  advance  from  the  cashier  : 
1  shall  give  orders  to  that  effect,  A  number  of  tele- 
grams were  to  have  been  sent  out  on  Saturday  which 
it  is  now  unnecessary  to  send  :  I  will  spend  the  money 
thus  saved  in  tobacco,  of  which  each  man  shall  get  a 
share  as  he  passes  out  through  the  small  gate.  The 
large  gates  will  not  be  opened  until  to-morrow  morn- 

ing." 

There  was  a  faint  wavering  cheer  as  Sartwell 
stopped  speaking  and  stepped  down.  The  men  then 
slowly  filtered  into  the  works. 


hi 
en( 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


Gibbons  knew  that  Monkton  and  Hope  had  gone 
to  the  Continent  before  Marsten  shouted  out  this  bit 
of  information  on  the  street  in  presence  of  the  men. 
He  saw  that  the  game  was  up,  and  all  he  wanted  was 
time  in  which  to  beat  a  retreat,  posing,  if  possible,  as 
the  man  who  had  brought  about  a  settlement.  As 
soon  as  Gibbons  learned  that  the  two  nominal  masters 
had  gone,  he  tried  to  open  communications  with  Sart- 
well,  and  sent  a  private  letter  to  him,  saying  that, 
taking  into  consideration  the  privations  of  the  men, 
and  the  large  money  loss  to  the  firm,  he  was  willing  to 
sink  all  personal  feelings  and  waive  the  proviso  here- 
tofore insisted  upon  regarding  a  meeting  between  the 
manager  and  himself.  Gibbonr.  expressed  his  willing- 
ness to  withdraw  from  the  conflict,  and  have  a  com- 
mittee of  the  men  appointed  to  wait  upon  Sartwell  to 
arrange  for  the  termination  of  the  strike,  but  asked 
that  his  letter  be  regarded  as  confidential. 

Sartwell,  with  perhaps  unnecessary  contempt,  re- 
turned the  letter  to  Gibbons,  saying  curtly  to  the 
bearer  that  there  was  no  answer. 

It  is  usually  unwise  to  humiliate  unduly  a  beaten 
adversary ;  but  Sartwell  was  not  versed  in  the  finer 
arts  of  courtesy,  and,  when  he  hated  a  man,  he  hated 
him  thoroughly,  caring  little  for  any  reprisal  his 
enemy  might  attempt. 

Gibbons  had  ground  his  teeth  in  helpless  rage  when 
his  letter  was  returned  to  him.  He  saw  that  no  con- 
cession he  could  make  would  placate  Sartwell  ;  so,  as 
the  strike  was  doomed,  he  resolved  to  make  the  best 
of  the  inevitable  retreat.     The  committee  agreed  that 


^.i-, 


'.' 


■d. 


ill 


--- -  ■      ■"' 


2IO 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY, 


!    '\  H  ''  *i 


*<■ 


■'(  »* ' 

,  ^ 

•«  ':■  ' 

1  * 

'■■'  |.  '1 

.:»^ 

;.'  ^ 

, 

'  * 

M  -,    ■ 

«     > 

^Ku 

V'r 

1      ,t  I. 

■«>'■. ' 

.H«  \ , 

1 

'«*»•« 
^ 


'    ' ,  ,ll 


l;„H 


•tkl 


S 


it  was  no  longer  possible  to  hold  out,  although  they 
had  refused  Marsten's  request  that  a  meeting  be 
called  and  a  ote  taken.  It  was  resolved  that  they 
convene  a  meeting  at  once,  not  waiting  for  nightfall 
(hoping  in  this  way  to  deprive  Marsten  of  any  credit 
that  might  accrue  from  the  surrender),  and  march  the 
men  in  a  body  from  the  hall  to  the  works,  where  the 
committee,  with  the  exception  of  Gibbons,  would 
precede  them,  to  induce  the  manager  to  open  the 
gates.  Gibbons  would  then  be  able  to  say  that  he, 
not  Marsten,  had  ended  the  strike  ;  and  he  might  even 
enact  the  rd/e  of  a  benefactor,  who  had  sacrificed  his 
own  feelings  in  the  interests  of  the  men. 

But  luck  was  against  Gibbons  that  day.  When  he 
reached  the  works  he  found  Marsten  there  haranguing 
his  fellow-workmen,  imploring  them  to  give  in  before 
it  was  too  late,  assuring  them  the  two  buildings  would 
be  full  of  workers  on  Monday,  and  then  all  efforts  to 
enter  would  be  fruitless.  It  was  very  apparent  that 
the  young  man  was  already  angered  at  the  slight  effect 
his  appeal  was  making  on  the  seeming  indifference  of 
the  men,  and,  if  Gibbons  had  been  less  angry  from 
the  rebuff  he  had  received  from  the  manager,  he  might 
have  taken  advantage  of  the  position  and  scored. 
As  it  was,  he  had  little  time  for  planning  any  new 
line  of  procedure.  The  moment  he  appeared,  Marsten 
demanded  that  a  meeting  should  be  instantly  called 
and  a  vote  taken.  Gibbons  asked  him  to  mind  his 
own  business,  saying  he  had  an  appointment  with  the 
owners  of  the  works,  and  there  would  be  a  meeting  to 
consider  their  reply.  Then  Gibbons  learned  that  his 
falsehood  was  useless  and  that  Marsten  knew  the 
owners  had  fled. 

At  this  point  the  unexpected  advent  of  Braunt,  and 
the  results  that  followed,  tumbled  all  schemes  to  the 
ground  like  a  house  of  cards. 

Braunt,  if  he  had  thought  about  the  matter  (which  he 
had  not),  was  revenged  at  the  end  of  the  strike  for  his 
ignominious  ejection  from  the  hall  at  the  beginning. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


211 


ley 

be 
tiey 
:fall 
edit 

the 

the 
Duld 

the 
:  he, 
even 
d  his 

sn  he 

Tuing 

)efore 

^vould 

)rts  to 

t  that 

^  effect 

nee  of 
from 
might 
cored, 
y  new 
arsten 
called 
nd  his 
ith  the 
iting  to 
lat  his 
vv   the 

|nt,  and 
to  the 

Ihichhe 

for  his 

[inning. 


Gibbons  retired  with  the  committee  to  consult  over 
the  new  situation.  It  was  a  gloomy  consultation. 
As  the  men  came  out  of  the  small  gate  one  by  one, 
each  with  half  a  week's  wages  in  his  pocket  and  a 
packet  of  tobacco  in  his  hand,  Scimmins  and  another 
member  of  the  committee  stood  outside,  proclaiming 
that  a  meeting  was  called  for  that  night,  to  discuss  thr 
events  of  the  day  in  a  friendly  manner.  No  man  an- 
swered ;  each  hurried  away  to  get  something  to  eat  or 
drink ;  nor  did  any  appear  that  night  at  Salvation 
Hall.  Next  morning  Scimmins  and  his  fellow-com- 
mitteemen  applied  to  Sartwell  for  reinstatement,  and 
were  given  their  old  places.  Gibbons  resigned  the  sec- 
retaryship of  the  Union,  and  his  resignation  was  ac- 
cepted, somewhat  to  his  surprise;  as  he,  knowing  the 
men  had  been  practically  unanimous  in  bringing  on 
the  strike,  expected  to  be  asked  to  keep  the  office, 
with  perhaps  a  vote  of  formal  thanks.  However,  all 
blame  for  the  failure  was  promptly  placed  on  his 
shoulders,  and  he  found  himself  suddenly  called  upon 
to  seek  another  situation.  His  bitterness  against 
Sartwell  deepened  into  virulent  hatred,  and  he  heaped 
maledictions  on  the  heads  of  the  men  whom  so  short  a 
time  ago  he  had  swayed  this  way  and  that  whenever 
he  addressed  them. 

The  morning  after  the  surrender  the  gates  stood  in- 
vitingly open,  and  black  smoke  poured  from  the  tall 
chimneys.  The  women  and  girls,  who  worked  on  the 
upper  floors,  were  the  first  to  come,  and  their  pale 
faces  turned  in  a  look  of  mute  thankfulness  towards 
the  banner  of  smoke  flying  above  them  like  a  signal 
of  rescue.  They  had  had  no  voice  in  bringing  on  the 
strike,  and  no  voice  in  its  cessation.  No  one  during 
its  continuance  had  been  anxious  to  know  whether 
they  lived  or  died  when  strike  pay  ceased. 

Before  the  day  was  done,  work  was  going  as 
smoothly  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The  men  were 
at  first  afraid  that  Sartwell  might  pick  and  choose 
among  them,  and  that  some  of  them  might  be  marked 


iU 


Jr-- 


212 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'M  I. 

0,1  '•  •>> 


( 


) 


1  ?■ 


/•'♦  I 


<l  • 


men  because  of  what  had  been  done  on  the  day  of  the 
riot,  but  it  soon  became  evident  that  no  distinction 
was  to  be  made. 

Just  as  the  men  had  settled  down  to  a  comfortable 
frame  of  mind  regarding  the  point  that  had  given 
them  anxiety,  they  were  startled  from  their  compla- 
cency by  an  unexpected  incident.  Marsten  was  dis- 
charged. On  the  first  regular  pay-day  the  young 
man  received  what  was  due  him,  and  a  month's  money 
besides.  The  cashier  told  him  that  his  services  would 
no  longer  be  required  in  the  factory.  Marsten  was  so 
dazed  by  this  unexpected  intimation  that  he  asked  for 
no  explanation,  but  walked  away  with  his  money  in  his 
hand.  He  knew  well  why  he  had  been  so  unceremoni- 
ously dismissed,  but  it  seemed  to  him  unfair  that  the 
manager  should  use  his  power  against  him  for  what 
was  entirely  a  personal  quarrel,  and  not  through  any 
fault  in  his  work.  He  counted  the  money  automati- 
cally three  or  four  times,  without  the  process  convey- 
ing to  his  mind  anything  definite  about  the  sum  that 
had  been  paid  him.  At  last  he  noticed  that  Sartwell 
had  apparently  ordered  four  times  as  much  to  be 
given  him  as  was  legally  his  due  with  a  notice  to  quit. 
Marsten  went  back  to  the  cashier  and  said  : 

"  There's  a  month's  money  here:  I  am  only  entitled 
to  a  week's  notice." 

"You'd  better  keep  what  you've  got,"  replied  the 
cashier.  *'  I  was  told  to  pay  you  a  month's  wages 
and  discharge  you.  The  money  isn't  mine  ;  it's  yours, 
and  you're  a  fool  if  you  part  with  it  for  nothing." 

"  I'll  take  only  what  is  my  due,"  said  Marsten. 
"  Give  the  remainder  to  Mr.  Sartwell,  and  tell  him  I 
want  none  of  his  generosity." 

"  It's  no  affair  of  mine,"  remarked  the  cashier.  "  I 
suppose  you  know  what  the  trouble  is — I  don't.  If 
you  are  wise  you  won't  send  any  juch  message  to  the 
manager,  but  you  will  go  quietly  and  see  him.  Per- 
haps a  few  words  of  explanation  will  set  matters  right ; 
anyhow,  nothing  is  to  be  gained  by  flying  into  a  tem- 


■SB 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


213 


the 
ion 

ible 
ven 
pla- 
dis- 
»ung 
)ney 
ould 
IS  so 
d  for 
n  his 
noni- 
t  the 
what 
1  any 
)mati- 
)nvey- 
n  that 
rtwell 
be 
quit. 

ititled 

id  the 
wages 

yours, 

»> 

irsten. 
him  I 


.     If 
I  to  the 
Per- 

right ; 
la  tem- 


:o 


per  about  it.     That  isn't  the  way  to  get  back  into  the 
works." 

"I'm  not  in  a  temper,"  replied  Marsten,  "and  I'm 
not  going  back  into  the  works — no,  not  if  Sartwell 
asks  me  to.  You  may  tell  him  that  when  I  come  back 
it  will  be  as  master  of  these  shops,  with  his  power 
broken — you  tell  him  that." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  If  you  think  to  frighten  a  man 
like  Mr.  Sartwell  with  great  talk,  you'll  be  disap- 
pointed." 

Marsten  turned  away,  and  found  Braunt  standing 
outside  the  gates. 

"Ah'm  waitin'  for  'ee,  lad,  and  Ah  thought  thou 
might  'a  gone  oot  wi*  first  lot,  but  porter  said  thou 
hadn't.  Coom  whoam  wi'  me,  Marsten ;  A.h'm  main 
lonely  an'  want  some  'un  ta  speak  wi'.  Ah  donno 
what's  wrong  wi'  me,  but  there's  summat.  Ma  head's 
queer.  Ah'm  hearin'  the  Dead  March  night  and  day, 
an'  it's  soundin'  solemner  an'  solcmner  till  it  frightens 
me.     Will  ye  walk  wi'  me,  lad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  willingly.  Don't  you  find  your  work  makes 
things  easier?     I  thought  that  would  help." 

"  Ah've  been  too  long  idle,  lad.  Work  doesn't  do 
what  it  used  to.  Ah  used  to  lose  maself  in't,  but 
now  Ah  just  seem  in  a  dream,  thinkin',  thinkin';  an' 
when  one  speaks  ta  me  sudden,  Ah  have  to  pull  maself 
back  from  a  distance  like,  before  Ah  can  understand 
what's  said  ;  an*  all  th'  while  the  throb  o'  the  machinery 
is  beatin'  out  the  Dead  March.  Once  or  twice  Ah've 
seen  Langly  sittin'  playin'  at  the  far  end  o'  the  room 
wi'  the  machines  all  answerin'  to  his  fingers,  while  Ah 
knew  he'd  ne'er  been  i'  the  shops  in's  life.  Ah've 
stood  there  wi'  ma  jaw  hangin*  an'  wi*  people  lookin* 
at  me  curious.  Then  when  Ah'd  rubbed  ma  eyes, 
Langly  was  gone,  but  the  machinery  kept  on  an* 
on." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  think  too  much  about  what  is 
past,  Braunt.  Everything  will  be  all  right  in  a  little 
while.     Stick   hard    at  your  work ;  that's  the   main 


i 


'fT* 


214 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ir-  . 
(     '''■ 


u 


'r 
'•it, 


If  r 


•♦•( 


I-  M 


11 


thing.  You  are  foreman  of  the  upper  room  now, 
aren't  you?" 

"  Yes.  Sartwell's  been  kind  ta  me.  Ah !  he's  a 
man,  Sartwell  is.     There's  no  waverin'  about  him." 

"  That's  true." 

"  He  sticks  by  them  as  sticks  by  him,  as  a  man 
should.  Has  he  said  anythin'  to  you,  since  the  strike 
ended  ?  " 

"  No.'^' 

"You're  young,  but  your  time'U  come.  You 
stand  by  Sartwell  an'  he'll  see  you  through.  He 
knows  how  you  tried  to  end  the  strike,  an'  he'll  not 
forget.  Ah'll  drop  in  a  word  f  ye  when  Ah  get  the 
chance." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  that." 

"Why?     It'll  do  no  harm." 

"  It  will  do  no  good." 

Braunt  paused  in  his  walk  and  looked  closely  at  his 
companion.  "What's  the  matter  wi'  thee,  lad?  Ye 
seem  cast  down,  an'  here  Ah'm  talkin'  away  about 
maself,  an*  payin'  no  heed  to  aught  else.  What's 
wrong  wi'  ye  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  you  will  have  to  know  sooner  or  later, 
and  there's  no  use  making  a  secret  of  it,  Sartwell  has 
discharged  me." 

"  No  !  "  cried  Braunt,  incredulously,  stopping  short 
and  turning  to  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  he  has." 

"  In  God's  name,  what  for?  " 

"  No  reason  was  given.  The  cashier  gave  me  a 
month's  wages  and  told  me  to  go.  I  gave  back  three- 
fourths  of  it,  for  I'm  entitled  to  but  a  week's  notice. 
I'll  have  no  favour  from  Sartwell." 

"  Ah,  lad,  there  ye  were  foolish.  Never  give  back 
money  when  you've  got  your  fingers  on  it.  Ye  hurt 
yourself  an*  not  the  others.  Still,  Ah'd  very  likely  a* 
done  the  same  thing ;  but  then,  Ah'm  a  fool,  an*  not  to 
be  taken  pattern  by.  Ha^^e  ye  asked  Sartwell  the 
reason  ?  " 


THE  MUTABLF  MANY. 


215 


Iback 
hurt 
jly  a' 

lot  to 
I  the 


"  I  have  not  seen  him,  nor  will  I." 

"  Wrong  again,  lad.  Let's  go  back  now,  an*  have  it 
out  wi'  him  before  he  goes  whoam." 

"  No,  no,  I  refuse  to  see  him." 

"  Then  Ah'll  see  him.  A  thing  like  that  mustn't 
be.  Discharged  for  no  cause !  Never !  Ah've 
brought  back  the  men,  an'  Ah  can  bring  them  out 
again.  Ah  will,  too, before  Ah'll  let  injustice  like  this 
happen ! " 

"  What  good  would  that  do  ?  The  men  are  help- 
less, as  you  know ;  besides,  they  wouldn't  come  out, 
and,  if  they  thought  of  doing  so,  I  would  myself  beg 
of  them  to  stay  in  their  places.  No,  the  proper  thing 
now  is  to  keep  quiet ;  work  hard ;  fill  up  the  empty 
treasury ;  organize  the  trade — not  locally,  but  univer- 
sally ;  and  see,  when  the  next  strike  comes  on,  that  we 
are  not  led  by  a  fool  like  Gibbons." 

"  But  lad,  don't  ye  want  to  find  out  why  you're 
paid  off?  It's  rank  injustice,  but  there  must  be  some 
reason  for't  in  Sartwell's  mind.  Ye've  like  said  some 
foolish  thing  that's  been  misrepresented  to  him,  an' 
Ah'm  sure  Ah  can  put  it  straight.  Ah  didn't  think 
Sartwell  was  the  man  t*  listen  t'  any  jabber  that  was 
brought  t'  him,  but  one  can  never  tell." 

"  You're  quite  right  about  Sartwell.  He  wouldn't 
pay  attention  to  talk  that  came  to  him,  no  matter  what 
the  talk  was.  No,  it's  deeper  than  that.  He  knows 
my  opinions  about  the  proper  organization  of  the 
men,  but  that  wouldn't  influence  him  for  a  moment. 
Because  I  said  no  reasons  were  given,  you  mustn't 
think  I  don't  know  why  he  turned  me  adrift.  I  do, 
but  it's  not  a  subject  I  care  to  talk  about,  even  with 
you,  Mr.  Braunt.  Only  I  should  like  you  to  under- 
stand that  interference  will  do  no  good.  I  should  like 
to  drop  out  quietly  and  have  nothing  said.  Remem- 
ber that  I,  knowing  all  the  circumstances,  am  not  sure 
but  that,  were  I  in  his  place,  I  should  have  acted  ex- 
actly as  Sartwell  has  done.  I'm  not  going  to  have  this 
made  into  a  grievance,  for  I  don't  want  it  talked  about. 


!(•■•■• 


II 


i 


tilt 


i 


2l6 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'ti  >, 


t  • 


The  main  fact  to  know  is  that  Sartwell  and  I  are 
enemies,  and  there  can  be  no  peace  between  us  until 
one  or  other  is  defeated.  If  you  could  talk  Sartwell 
into  asking  me  to  come  back, — and  you  know  the  diffi- 
culty there  would  be  in  that, — I  wouldn't  go  back.  So 
you  understand  the  uselessness  of  seeing  Mr.  Sartwell." 

"  But  lad,  how  are  ye  t'  live  ?  " 

Marsten  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I'll  have  no  difficulty  in  making  a  living. 
Don't  you  fear.  I'll  stick  by  the  Union  too,  and 
some  day  I  hope  to  show  Sartwell  how  a  strike 
should  be  conducted." 

"  Right  ye  are,  if  that's  the  game !  "  cried  Braunt, 
bringing  his  hand  down  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"Ah  don't  believe  much  in  strikes,  but  Ah  believe  in 
ye !  Ah'U  see  the  men  to-night,  an'  Ah'll  have  ye 
made  secretary  to  th'  Union.  That  will  be  our  an- 
swer ta  Sartwell.  Then,  lad,  ye  can  have  enough  to 
live  on,  and  ye  can  put  the  pieces  o'  th'  Union  to- 
gether ta  suit  ye." 

*'  I  should  like  that,"  said  Marsten,  eagerly. 

"  It  shall  be  done.  The  men  will  go  in  for  it  when 
they  hear  ye've  got  the  sack.  They  still  feel  sore  over 
the  defeat,  as  if  it  wasn't  all  their  own  fault ;  and  now 
their  fear  of  Sartwell's  packing  some  o'  them  off  is 
over,  they'll  like  to  show  a  little  independence  by 
electing  you,  to  prove  to  the  manager  that  they're  not 
afraid,  which  they  are.  Ah'll  have  to  convince  them 
that  Sartwell  won't  strike  back  or  take  your  appoint- 
ment as  a  defiance." 

**  But  perhaps  he  will." 

"Not  him.  He  was  as  sick  o'  the  strike  as  any  one. 
No.  He'll  shrug  his  shoulders,  but  he'll  say  nothing. 
Ah'm  certain  that  if  Gibbons  had  had  the  sense  to  go 
to  the  masters  at  the  first,  he  would  have  broken  Sart- 
well long  since.  An'  that  was  what  Sartwell  was 
afraid  of,  Ah'll  be  bound.  His  greatest  stroke  was 
getting  Monkton  and  Hope  out  of  the  country.  It 
was  your  visit  to  Hope  did  that.     Sartwell  saw  ye'd 


If 


.en 
er 

low 
is 
by 
ot 

lem 
nt- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


217 


put  your  finger  on  the  weak  spot ;  an'  Ah'Il  warrant, 
if  we  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  it,  Sartwell  threatened 
ta  chook  up  the  whole  business  if  they  didn't  leave, 
and  they  left.  Ah !  he's  a  man  as  can  fight,  is  Sart- 
well." 

They  had  reached  the  court  shortly  before  their 
conversation  had  arrived  at  this  point,  and  Marsten 
sat  down  with  his  host.  The  room  was  barer  than 
such  places  usually  are,  for  every  pawnable  or  salable 
thing  had  been  removed  from  time  to  time  as  the 
siege  went  on.  The  empty  space  where  the  old  har- 
monium had  stood  made  the  room  seem  larger  than 
it  really  was. 

"  Yes,"  said  Braunt  with  a  sigh,  noticing  Marsten's 
eye  wandering  to  the  vacant  spot,  "it  was  the  last 
thing  that  went  before  Jessie  died.  We  pawned  it, 
thinking  we'd  get  it  back  again,  but  Ah'U  never  take 
it  back.  Ah'm  glad  it's  gone.  Ah  couldn't  bear  to 
look  at  it.  But  let's  not  talk  of  what's  away,  but  o' 
what's  here.  Ye're  still  thinkin'  ye  can  do  somethin' 
for  the  workin'man  by  organization  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  of  it." 

Braunt  shook  his  head. 

"Ye  won't,  my  lad,  but  Ah'll  do  my  best  to  get  ye 
the  chance  ta  try.  Just  look  at  what  has  happened. 
They  let  Gibbons  go  without  a  word  :  he  was  a  fool, 
perhaps,  but  he  worked  hard  for  them,  an'  they  don't 
even  say  thankee.  An'  they'll  do  the  same  wi'  ye. 
They'll  do  the  same  wi'  any  one." 

"  It  all  depends  on  how  they  are  led.  When  men 
are  foolishly  led,  they  soon  find  it  out  and  lose  con- 
fidence. Think  what  a  man  like  Napoleon  might  have 
accomplished  if  he  had  led  workingmen  instead  of 
soldiers,  and  had  turned  his  talents  to  bettering  his 
fellow-men  instead  of  butchering  them  !  " 

"  Napoleon  could  have  done  nothin'.  He  could 
have  done  nothin'  wi'  soldiers,  even,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  one  power  which  ye  can  never  have," 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 


m 


i 


"P- 


2l8 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


>» 


'•    1       »  • 

1)1  ,  ^ 

'm , 

I  Hi  ft     < 

■  <i 
/'■•' « « 

■nu  '^    :' 

•      f  ,• 


"  The  power  o*  orderin*  a  man  out  o'  the  ranks,  an* 
havin'  him  shot.  If  Ah'd  that  power  Ah'd  lead  the 
men  maself,  an'  get  them  anythin'  they  wanted.  The 
State  will  let  you  slowly  starve  a  hundred  men  to 
death  and  never  interfere,  but  if  ye  shot  even  Gib- 
bons there'd  be  a  row  about  it.  An'  yet  we  think 
we're  civilized  !     Ah  say  we're  savages." 

"  Oh,  that's  wrong,  Braunt !  "  cried  Marsten,  rising. 
"We're  long  past  that  stage.  If  I  get  the  reorganiz- 
ing of  the  Union,  I'll  try  a  fall  with  Sartwell  some 
day,  and  will  down  him  without  shooting  anybody." 

"  Very  well,  lad,  Ah'll  do  ma  best  for  ye,  an'  wish 
ye  luck." 

Braunt  did  his  best,  and  the  next  week  Marsten 
was  unanimously  made  secretary  of  the  Union  by  men 
who  had  looked  upon  him  as  a  traitor  only  a  few 
weeks  before. 


It"  ■  ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Marsten  mad:  no  move  to  communicate  with  Sart- 
well.  If  the  manager  expected  the  youn^  man  to  pro- 
pose a  coripromise,  he  was  disappointed ;  and  when 
he  heard  iN.'arsten  had  been  elected  secretary  of  the 
Union,  he  smiled  grimly,  but  made  no  comment.  It 
was  to  be  war  to  the  knife,  and  Sartwell  always  ad- 
mired an  able  antagonist.  He  made  no  motion  against 
the  Union,  although  at  that  time  he  could  probably 
have  forced  seventy-five  per  cent  of  his  employees  to 
withdraw  from  it,  had  he  been  so  minded.  Marsten 
gave  him  due  credit  for  declining  to  use  the  weapon 
of  coercion  against  the  men,  knowing  Sartwell  too  well 
to  believe  that  the  thought  had  not  occurred  to  him. 
Yet  there  was  little  of  the  spirit  of  Christian  forgive- 
ness about  the  manager,  as  his  wife  had  with  truth  often 
pointed  out  to  him :  he  pursued  an  enemy  to  the  bit- 
ter end.  Gibbons  metaphorically  prostrated  himself 
before  Sartwell,  and  begged  for  the  place  in  the  works 
from  which  Marsten  had  been  ejected.  He  was  starv- 
ing, he  said.  Sartwell  replied  that  he  was  glad  to  hear 
it,  and  hoped  Gibbons  would  now  appreciate  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  men  he  had  so  jauntily  led  astray ;  so  Gib- 
bons had  again  humiliated  himself  for  nothing. 

To  do  Sartwell  justice,  however,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  the  attempted  management  of  Marsten 
had  slipped  out  of  his  hands  in  a  way  he  had  never 
anticipated.  He  did  not  dislike  the  young  man  ;  in 
truth,  quite  the  opposite :  still,  he  had  higher  ambi- 
tions for  his  only  daughter  than  to  see  her  marry  one 
of  his  own  workmen.  The  incident  of  finding  Marsten 
with   Edna   in   the  garden   had  disturbed  him  more 


I* 


■f 


i 


^ir 


ff 


220 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


N- 


'  ff  j 


»» 


in  .   '      ' 


1^1^ 


♦r. 


^^i!', 


■>  lijVI 


il 


I! 


than  he  cared  to  admit,  even  to  himself.  If  this  per- 
sistent young  fellow  managed,  when  half  starved,  in 
the  turmoil  cf  the  strike,  to  attend  so  successfully  to 
his  love  affair,  what  might  not  happen  when  he  was 
at  peace  with  the  world  and  had  money  in  his  pocket  ? 
Sartwell  could  have  forbidden  his  daughter  to  see 
Marsten,  and  doubtless  she  would  have  obeyed ;  but 
he  was  loath  to  pique  her  curiosity  regarding  the 
reason  for  the  prohibition,  and  he  could  not  baldly 
tell  her  the  young  man  craved  permission  to  pay  his 
addresses  to  her:  that  might  set  her  fancy  afire,  with 
disastrous  results  to  her  father's  hopes.  Sartwell 
only  half  expected  Marsten  would  appeal  to  him 
against  his  discharge ;  but  he  knew  that  before  the 
young  fellow  got  another  situation  he  must  refer  his 
new  masters  to  his  old  manager,  and,  when  that  time 
came,  or  if  Marsten  made  a  move  on  his  own  account, 
Sartwell  stood  ready  to  make  terms  with  him.  If 
Marsten  promised  not  to  see  the  girl  for  two  years,  the 
manager  would  reinstate  him,  or  would  help  him  to 
secure  another  place. 

AH  these  plans  went  to  pieces  when  the  men  unex- 
pectedly chose  Marsten  as  secretary  of  their  Union. 
It  was  a  contingency  the  manager  had  not  counted 
upon,  but  he  faced  the  new  position  of  affairs  without 
a  murmur  against  fate. 

Marsten  thought  his  dismissal  harsh  and  unjust,  but 
he  felt  that  it  freed  him  from  all  consideration  towards 
Sartwell.  He  now  determined  to  meet  the  girl  when- 
ever and  wherever  he  could ;  so,  with  this  purpose 
strong  in  his  heart,  he  went  to  Wimbledon,  boldly 
presented  himself  at  the  front  door,  and  asked  to  see 
Miss  Sartwell.  He  knew  her  father  did  not  dare  tell 
her  the  true  state  of  the  case,  and,  if  it  came  to  that, 
permission  to  visit  the  house  had  already  been  given 
in  Edna's  own  presence, — a  permission  which  her  father 
had  probably  not  withdrawn  when  Marsten  left  them 
together  in  the  garden,  as  such  withdrawal  would 
necessitate   explanations  which   Sartwell   would   not 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


221 


I  but 
irds 
len- 
)ose 
lldly 
see 
tell 
[hat, 
iven 
Ither 
lem 
mid 
not 


believe  it  wise  to  make.  Therefore,  the  young  man 
resolved  to  see  the  girl,  tell  her  frankly  why  he  came, 
and  plead  his  cause  with  her.  Even  if  she  refused  to 
listen  to  him,  he  would  at  least  cause  her  to  think  of 
him,  and  that  of  itself  was  worth  risking  something  for. 

The  servant,  on  opening  the  door,  recognized  Mar- 
sten  as  the  young  man  who  on  a  former  occasion  did 
not  know  his  own  mind,  and  she  promptly  said  to  him  : 

"  Mr.  Sartwell  is  not  at  home." 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Sartwell." 

"  The  young  lady  is  not  at  home  either." 

"  Will  she  return  soon  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.     Miss  Edna's  gone  away." 

"  Gone  away  ?  "  echoed  Marsten,  visibly  perturbed 
at  this  unexpected  check  in  his  advance. 

The  servant  saw  she  was  face  to  face  witu  another 
case  of  mental  indecision  ;  so  she  promptly  grappled 
with  the  situation  by  calling  Mrs.  Sartwell,  who  was 
in  the  dining-room :  then,  turning  the  embarrassed 
young  man  over  to  her  mistress,  she  closed  the  door 
and  returned  to  the  more  important  work  which  Mars- 
ten's  knock  had  interrupted. 

*' You  wished  to  see  Miss  Sartwell?"  began  the 
lady,  icily.     "  Why  ?  " 

It  was  not  an  easy  question  to  answer,  when  sud- 
denly asked  by  an  utter  stranger. 

**  Well,  I  can  scarcely  tell  you,  Mrs.  Sartwell," 
stammered  the  young  man,  extremely  ill  at  ease.  "  It 
is  entirely  a  personal  matter.  I  wished  to  have  a  few 
words  with  Miss  Sartwell ;  that  is  all." 

The  lady  sat  bolt  upright,  with  a  look  of  great  sever- 
ity on  her  face.  There  was  mystery  here  which  she 
resolved  to  unravel  before  she  allowed  the  unfortunate 
young  man  to  depart.  He  speedily  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  had  in  the  lady  before  him  an  im- 
placable enemy,  more  to  be  feared,  perhaps,  than 
Sartwell  himself.  Each  question  shot  at  him  led  him 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  tangle. 

**  You  are  her  lover»  T  suppose  ?  " 


I  * 


I 


t 
I 


ill' 


! 

lis 


':i     1 


a    II 


^ 


MMUMH 


222 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■»'*,. 


Ik 


''  I.  ^ 
» 


♦r. 


1 .  . 


'A* 
I 


**  No.  That  is — I  really  can't  explain,  Mrs.  Sart 
well." 

"  Very  well ;  I  shall  ask  my  husband  when  he  returns 
to-night.     He  knows  nothing  of  this,  of  course?  " 

"Yes,  he  does." 

"  He  knows  you  are  here?" 

"  He  doesn't  know  I  am  here  to-day.  He  knows  I 
love  his  daughter." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  were  not  her  lover. 
Young  man,  whatever  else  you  do,  speak  the  truth. 
All  our  earthly  troubles  come  from  shunning  the 
truth,  and  from  overweening  pride.  Avoid  pride,  and 
avoid  falsehood.  What  did  you  mean  when  you  told 
me  just  now  that  you  were  not  Miss  Sartwell's  lover? 
I  beseech  you  to  speak  the  truth." 

"  I'm  trying  to,  but  you  see  it  is  rather  difficult  to 
talk  about  this  with  a  third  person,  and " 

"  I  am  not  a  third  person.  I  am  her  step-mother, 
and  responsible  to  a  higher  power  for  what  I  do 
regarding  Edna.  I  must  have  full  knowledge,  and 
then  trust  to  the  guiding  light  from  above.  We  are 
ever  prone  to  err  when  we  rely  on  our  own  puny 
efforts.     Does  Edna  Sartwell  know  you  love  her?  " 

"  No." 

'*  And  her  father  does  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  told  him." 

"  Then  I  wonder  he  did  not  forbid  you  to  see  her." 

"He  did." 

"  Are  you  one  of  his  workmen?  " 

"  Yes.     At  least  I  was." 

"  Are  you  not  now  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  He  has  discharged  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  discharged." 

The  stern  look  faded  from  Mrs.  Sartwell's  face. 
She  drew  a  deep  breath — a  prolonged  "Ah,"  with 
what  might  be  taken  as  a  quiver  of  profound  satisfac- 
tion in  it — and,  for  the  first  time  during  the  con- 
ference, leaned  back  comfortably  in  her  chair. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


223 


ice. 
rith 
Ifac- 


"  My  poor  boy  !  "  she  said  at  last,  gazing  compassion- 
ately at  him.  **  Do  you  mean  to  say,  then,  that  you 
would  risk  your  whole  future  for  a  girl  to  whom  you 
have  never  spoken  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  spoken  with  her,  Mrs.  Sartwell.  I 
said  I  had  never  spoken  about — that  she  doesn't 
know  I  care  anything  for  her." 

"  But  you  know  absolutely  nothing  about  her  dis- 
position— her  temper." 

"  I'd  chance  it." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  shook  her  head  mournfully. 

*'  How  well  you  reflect  the  spirit  of  this  scoffing 
age !  People  chance  everything.  Nothing  is  so  im- 
portant to  a  man  as  the  solemn,  prayerful  choice  of  a 
wife,  for  on  that  choice  rests  the  misery  or  the  happi- 
ness of  this  life.  A  woman's  great  duty — at  least  it 
seems  so  to  my  poor  judgment — is  to  bring  light,  com- 
fort, and  joy,  to  her  husband's  home.  Do  you  think 
Edna  Sartwell  is  fitted  by  temperament  or  education 
for  this  noble  task?  " 

**  She'd  make  me  happy,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"  How  little,  how  little  you  know  her  !  But  then, 
you  know  her  father,  and  she's  very  like  him.  Of 
course,  he  will  never  permit  you  to  marry  her,  if  he  can 
prevent  it.  You  are  a  workingman,  and  he  has  no 
thought  or  sympathy  for  those  from  whose  ranks  he 
sprang.  He  has  higher  ideas  for  his  daughter  ;  I  have 
long  seen  that.  It  is  pride,  pride,  pride!  Oh,  it  will 
have  a  terrible  fall  some  day,  and  perhaps  you,  poor 
lad,  who  talk  of  chance,  are  the  humble  instrument 
selected  by  an  overruling  Providence  to  bring  about 
the  humbling  of  his  pride,  without  which  none  of  us 
can  enter  the  Kingdom  !  I  see  it  all  now.  I  see  why 
he  sent  Edna  to  school  at  Eastbourne,  although  he 
said  it  was  because  we  could  not  get  on  together. 
How  little  prevarication  avails !  The  deceiver  shall 
himself  be  deceived !  In  your  seemingly  chance 
meeting  with  me  I  see  the  Hand  pointing  towards 
truth.     Still,"  continued  Mrs.  Sartwell  reflectively,  as 


ii 


-'li 


m 


224 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ti 


^-l'; 

««!'!: 


■■th 


•-■,.•  I 

•in  i 


■»•» 


*i»^ 


•«w«.. 


though  speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  her  hearer, 
"  there  is  no  doubt  that,  if  you  took  Edna's  fancy,  she 
would  marry  you  in  spite  of  her  father  or  any  one  else. 
I  have  long  warned  her  father  that  such  a  time  is  com- 
ing; but  alas!  my  words  are  unheeded  in  this  house, 
and  the  time  has  come  sooner  than  I  expected.  I  have 
wondered  for  some  weeks  past  what  was  in  Edna's 
mind.  I  thought  that  perhaps  she  was  thinking  of 
Barnard  Hope,  but  I  see  now  I  was  mistaken.  No, 
she  was  very  likely  thinking  of  you,  and  her  father, 
discovering  it,  has  packed  her  off  to  High  Ciiff  School 
at  Eastbourne,  where  he  probably  hopes  you  cannot 
visit  her.  She  is  a  wayward,  obstinate  child,  impulsive, 
and  difficult  to  manage.  She  thinks  her  father  is  per- 
fection, so  you  may  form  your  own  opinion  of  how  de- 
fective her  judgment  is.  Yes,  I  should  not  be  at  all 
surprised  if,  when  you  tell  her  you  love  her,  she  would 
at  once  propose  to  run  away  with  you.  Nothing 
Edna  Sartwell  would  do  or  say  could  surprise  me." 

Marsten,  who  had  been  very  uneasy  while  a  forced 
listener  to  this  exposition  of  the  girl's  character,  now 
rose  abruptly,  and  said  he  must  leave;  he  had  already, 
he  said,  taken  up  too  much  of  Mrs.  Sartwell's  time. 

"  Our  time  is  given  us,"  replied  the  good  woman, 
also  rising,  *'  to  make  the  best  use  of,  and  if  we 
remember  that  we  m*ust  give  an  account  of  every  mo- 
ment allotted  to  us,  we  will  not  count  that  time  ill- 
spent  which  is  devoted  to  the  welfare  of  others.  I 
sincerely  trust  that  what  I  have  said  will  sink  deeply 
into  your  mind,  and  that  you  will  profit  by  it." 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so." 

"  You  will  understand  why  I  cannot  give  you  any 
information  about  Miss  Sartwell,  or  arrange  for  any 
meeting  between  you.  It  would  not  be  right.  If  she 
were  now  in  the  house,  I  could  not  permit  you  to  see 
her,  since  I  know  you  come  without  her  father's  per- 
mission. I  hope  you  do  not  think  me  harsh  in  saying 
this." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.' 


>t 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


225 


.rer, 

she 

dse. 

:om- 

•use, 

lave 

Ina's 

g  of 

No, 
ther, 
:hool 
nnot 
Isive, 
3  per- 
w  de- 
at  all 
vould 
(thing 

M 

orced 
■,  now 
ready, 
Tie. 
oman, 
if   we 
y  mo- 
Tie  ill- 
rs.     I 


ee 


ply 


"  And  whatever  comes  of  your  infatuation  for  her, 
will  you  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  my  last 
words  to  you  were  to  implore  you  to  cast  all  thought 
of  her  from  your  mind  ?  " 

"I  shall  remember  it,"  said  Marsten. 

"  If  you  attempt  to  meet  her,  you  know  you  will  be 
doing  so  against  my  strict  wish  and  command." 

"  You  certainly  will  not  be  to  blame  for  anything 
that  happens,  Mrs.  Sartwell." 

"  Ah,  if  I  could  only  be  sure  of  that !  "  said  the 
patient  woman,  mournfully  shaking  her  head.  '*  But 
blame  is  so  easily  bestowed,  and  it  shifts  responsibili- 
ty fiom  shoulders  certainly  more  fitted  to  bear  it,  and 
perhaps  more  deserving.  No  later  ago  than  yesterday, 
Mr.  Barnard  Hope  came  here,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  Edna  gone.  He  told  me  he  came  to  see  me,  but 
he  could  not  help  noticing  how  still  and  peaceful  the 
house  was.  When  he  asked  where  Edna  was,  I  re- 
plied to  him  as  I  reply  to  you.  Her  father  is  the 
proper  person  to  answer  that  question.  Yet  Mr. 
Hope  is  the  son  of  m.y  best  friend,  a  noble  woman, 
whose  benefactions  shower  blessings  far  and  near. 
Well,  good-by,  and  I'm  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  assist 
you  ;  but  I  shall  remember  you  in  my  petitions,  and 
will  trust  that  your  feet  may  be  guided  aright." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Sartwell,  and  good-by." 

As  the  young  man  walked  away  he  kept  repeating 
to  himself,  "High  Cliff  School,  Eastbourne";  and 
when  he  got  a  sufificient  distance  from  the  house  he 
v/rote  the  name  down  on  a  slip  of  paper. 


any 
)r  any 
If  she 
Ito  see 
[s  per- 
aying 


u 


M 


rff 


■■m 


'"!« 


^  is. 

'I  .; 
■'■I  »•„  1 


f»k 


'A: 


1H 


•*« 


^h 


:  H 


»n* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

On  reaching  the  railway  station  Marsten's  first 
regret  was  that  he  had  not  taken  all  the  money  offered 
him  on  the  day  of  his  discharge.  He  had  no  idea 
that  his  quest  would  lead  him  to  a  fashionable  and 
expensive  sea-side  resort.  Prudence  proposed  to  him 
that  he  should  defer  his  visit  to  Eastbourne  until  he 
had  more  money ;  but,  he  said  to  himself,  if  he  did 
not  go  at  once,  Sartwell  would  be  certain  to  learn 
from  his  wife  of  the  visit  to  Wimbledon,  and  there 
might  be  increased  difificulties  in  getting  to  see  Edna 
at  Eastbourne.  As  it  was,  he  had  no  idea  how  the 
meeting  he  wished  for  was  to  be  brought  about,  for 
doubtless  Sartwell,  when  sending  his  daughter  to  the 
school,  had  given  the  lady  into  whose  care  Edna  was 
entrusted,  a  hint  of  his  object  in  placing  her  there. 
Marsten  stepped  out  of  the  South  Western  carriage 
at  Clapham  Junction,  and  found  he  had  but  half  an 
hour  to  wait  for  the  Eastbourne  train.  He  smiled 
when  he  remembered  the  care  and  thought  he  was 
giving  to  the  Union,  after  having  so  frequently 
asserted  that  he  was  willing  to  devote  his  life  to  the 
work.  It  was  a  blessing  that  all  the  Union  needed  at 
the  moment  was  to  be  let  alone. 

When  he  arrived  at  Eastbourne,  he  immediately 
set  out  in  search  of  High  Cliff  School,  thinking  it 
well  to  reconnoitre  the  situation,  hoping  the  sight  of 
it  might  suggest  some  plan  that  was  practical.  He 
would  have  one  thing  in  his  favour,  which  was  that 
Sartwell  would  not  have  warned  his  daughter  against 
seeing  him,  fearing  to  arouse  her  curiosity  or  suspi- 
cions.    If,  then,  he  got  one  word  with  Edna  alone,  he 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


227 


first 

fered 
idea 

i  and 

0  him 

til  he 

le  did 
learn 
there 
Edna 

w  the 

ut,  for 

to  the 
la  was 
there, 
.rriage 
lalf  an 

Ismiled 

le  was 

[uently 

to  the 

;ded  at 

liately 
:ing  it 
light  of 
ll      He 
that 
igainst 
suspi- 
me,  he 


had  no  fear  but  that  he  could  arrange  for  a  longer 
interview.  He  found  High  Cliff  to  be  a  large  house, 
situated  in  extensive  grounds,  with  a  view  of  the  sea, 
but  with  a  wall  that  was  even  more  discouraging  than 
the  glass-topped  barrier  at  Wimbledon. 

Marsten  saw  there  was  going  to  be  more  difificulty 
in  getting  an  interview  with  his  sweetheart  than  he 
had  at  first  imagined.  He  thought  for  a  moment  of 
applying  boldly  at  the  front  door  for  permission  to 
see  the  young  student,  but  quickly  dismissed  the  plan 
as  impracticable.  He  was  certain  that  so  shrewd  a 
man  as  Sartwell  would  have  more  foresight  than  to 
leave  arrangements  at  such  loose  ends  that  the  first 
person  who  called  to  see  his  daughter  wou^d-  be  ad- 
mitted, even  if  the  ordinary  rules  of  the  school  allowed 
such  a  thing,  which  was  most  improbable.  He  realized 
that  the  place  was  not  to  be  taken  by  assault,  but  rather 
by  slow  and  patient  siege  ;  so,  wandering  down  by 
the  shore,  he  sat  on  the  shingle,  within  sound  of  the 
soothing  waves,  and  gave  his  whole  attention  to  the 
problem. 

If  a  man  whose  ambition  it  was  to  emancipate  the 
worker,  and  change  the  whole  relationship  between 
capital  and  labour,  was  going  to  be  baffied  in  seeking 
half  an  hour's  talk  with  a  young  girl,  not  immured  in 
a  prison  or  a  convent,  but  merely  residing  in  an 
ordinary  English  school,  then  were  his  chances  of 
solving  the  larger  question  remote  and  shadowy. 
Thus  he  came  to  bind  the  two  enterprises  together, 
saying  to  himself  that  success  in  the  one  would  indi- 
cate success  in  the  other.  The  first  thing  to  do,  then, 
was  to  secure  some  cheap  lodging — if  such  a  thing  was 
to  be  found  in  this  fashionable  resort — and  so  hoard 
his  money  and  bide  his  time,  for  he  was  convinced  he 
would  make  haste  only  by  going  slowly.  It  was  a 
case  in  which  undue  precipitancy  would  make  ulti- 
mate victory  impossible.  He  knew  that  some  time 
during  the  day  the  pupils  would  walk,  though  guarded 
doubtless  by  vigilant  governesses.    It  might  be  possi- 


li 


\i 


ii 


If 


nr 


228 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'(I        \x^ 


'^Iv.. 


«U-,' 


'■•i  t 


'^H  .'  1,, 


im 


hj 


ble  to  pass  this  interesting  procession,  and,  while  doing 
so,  to  slip  a  note  into  Edna's  hand ;  but  even  as  Mars- 
ten  thought  of  this  plan,  he  dismissed  it  as  impracti- 
cable, for  Edna  would  be  so  surprised  at  such  an 
inexplicable  proceeding  on  his  part  that  she  would 
not  have  the  presence  of  mind  necessary  to  conceal  the 
missive  promptly  enough  to  escape  detection.  He 
left  the  shore,  still  ruminating  on  the  problem,  and, 
searching  in  the  back  part  of  the  town,  found  lodgings 
that  suited  his  requirements  and  his  purse.  When 
this  was  done,  he  strolled  on  the  promenade,  still  giv- 
ing the  great  problem  his  whole  attention. 

Suddenly  he  received  a  staggering  blow  on  the  back 
which  almost  thrust  him  forward  on  his  face.  Recov- 
ering himself,  he  turned  round  brea'-hless,  alarmed  and 
angry,  to  see  before  him  the  huge  form  and  smiling 
face  of  Barney  Hope,  who  genially  presented  the 
hand  that  had  smitten  him. 

"  Hello,  old  fellow  !  "  cried  Barney,  laughing  aloud 
at  the  other's  resentful  glare.  "  What  are  you  doing 
down  here?  Has  the  strike  taken  it  out  of  you  so 
that  you  had  to  have  sea  air  to  recuperate  ?  " 

"  No  strike  ever  took  it  out  of  me  like  'he  blow  you 
struck  just  now." 

Barney  threw  back  his  head  and  roared  ;  then,  link- 
ing arms  with  Marsten  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
he  said  : 

"  No,  my  paw  isn't  light,  as  all  my  friends  say,  and 
it  has  got  me  into  trouble  before  now.  I  had  to 
thrash  a  fellow  in  Paris  once,  merely  because  I  could 
not  convince  him  that  the  gentle  tap  1  gave  him  was 
in  fun.  He  admitted  afterwards  that  there  was  a  differ- 
ence, and  that  he  would  rather  have  my  open  palm  on 
his  back  than  my  closed  fist  in  his  face, — but  what  can 
you  expect?  The  French  have  no  sense  of  humour, 
and  yet  they  can't  box  well.  It  should  occur  to  them, 
as  a  nation,  that  they  ought  either  to  know  how  to 
take  a  joke,  or  else  how  to  put  up  their  dukes,  if  they 
are  going  to  take  things  seriously.     But  my  slap  on 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


229 


was 
liffer- 
on 
It  can 
lOur, 
lem, 
[w  to 
jthey 
on 


the  back  is  nothing  to  my  hand-shake  when  I'm  feel- 
ing cordial  towards  a  fellow  creature.  Let's  see,  have 
we  shaken  hands  this  go  ?  " 

"Yes,  thanks,"  said  Marsten,  with  such  eagerness 
that  the  other  laughed  again. 

"Well,  I'm  delighted  to  meet  you  so  unexpectedly, 
don't  you  know.  Your  name's  Langton,  if  I  remem- 
ber rightly  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Marsten." 

"  Oil,  yes,  of  course.  I'm  the  stupidest  fool  in  the 
kingdom  about  names,  and  it's  an  awfully  bad  failing. 
People  seem  to  get  offended  if  you  can't  remember 
their  names.  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  why.  I  wouldn't 
care  tuppence  what  I  was  called,  so  long  as  you  don't 
say  I'm  no  painter.  Then  I'm  ready  to  fight.  A  man 
who  won't  fight  for  his  art  oughtn't  to  have  an  art. 
And,  talking  about  art,  I  remember  now  that  Langton 
was  the  fellow  you  sent  me  who  can  play  the  piano  as 
if  he  were  a  Rubinhoff — that  Russian  player,  don't 
you  know.  Well,  I'm  thundering  glad  to  see  you  ;  I 
was  just  hoping  to  meet  some  fellow  I  knew.  I'm 
dying  for  some  one  to  talk  to.  It's  a  beastly  dull 
hole,  Eastbourne,  don't  you  know." 

"  I  was  never  here  before.  It  seems  to  me  a  very 
nice  place." 

"Yes,  it  looks  that  way  at  first,  but  wait  till  you've 
been  here  a  day  or  two.  It's  so  wretchedly  respect- 
able! — that's  what  I  object  to  in  it.  Respectability's 
bad  enough  on  its  native  heath,  but  sea  air  seems  to 
accentuate  it,  don't  you  know.  I  can't  tell  you  why 
it  is,  but  it's  so ;  and  respectability  that  you  can  put 
up  with  in  London  becomes  unbearable  down  by  the 
sea.  Haven't  you  noticed  that  ?  And  it's  all  on  such 
a  slender  basis  too :  the  third-class  fare  to  Brighton  is 
four  shillings  and  tuppence-ha'penny,  while  to  East- 
bourne it's  four  shillings  and  elevenpence,  so  all  this 
swagger  is  on  a  beggarly  foundation  of  eightpence- 
ha'penny.  You  see  what  I  mean  ?  I  wouldn't  give  a 
week  in  Brighton  for  a  day  in  Eastbourne,  although  I 


m 


ma 


230 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I  '11-  "i 


'«', 


*.'. 


\ 


MM 

*       '   ■    I' 


Hji 


ig|n|a| 


should  hate  to  be  condemned  to  either,  for  that  mat- 
ter. London  is  the  only  town  that's  exactly  my  size, 
don't  you  know." 

"Then  why  do  you  stop  at  Eastbourne?" 

"Ah,  now  you  come  to  the  point;  now  you  place 
your  finger  right  on  the  spot.  Why,  indeed?  Can't 
you  guess?  I  can  tell  in  a  moment  why  you  are 
here." 

"  Why?"  asked  Marsten,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Oh,  simply  because  some  fool  of  a  doctor,  who 
didn't  know  any  better,  sent  you  down.  You're  here 
for  the  air,  my  boy :  you  don't  come  for  the  society, 
so  it  must  be  the  air — that's  the  only  other  thing 
Eastbourne's  got.  You  were  told  it  would  brace  you 
up  in  a  week,  and  it  will,  if  your  reason  holds  out  for 
so  long.  I'd  be  a  madman,  sane  as  I  am,  if  I  were 
compelled  to  live  in  this  place  a  fortnight ;  I  would, 
on  my  honour!  No,  you  don't  catch  me  in  East- 
bourne for  either  air  or  the  society,  and  yet,  in  a  way, 
it  is  the  society,  too,  only  it  doesn't  seem  to  come  off  ; 
and  here  I  am  stranded,  don't  you  know,  with  a 
coachman  and  a  groom,  not  to  mention  a  valet,  two 
horses,  and  one  of  the  smartest  carts  that  ever  left 
London.  That's  my  turn-out,  there.  I  drive  tandem, 
of  course  ;  it's  the  only  Christian  way  to  drive.  Not 
that  I  care  about  the  style  of  it, — I  hope  I'm  above 
all  that  sort  of  thing, — and  I'm  not  to  be  blamed  be- 
cause so  many  other  fellows  do  it,  don't  you  know  ;  I 
love  a  tandem  for  itself  alone.     Ever  drive  tandem  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,"  said  Marsten,  looking  at  Barney's 
handsome  equipage,  which  was  being  slowly  driven  up 
and  down  the  road  by  a  man  in  livery.  He  had  no- 
ticed it  before,  but  now  he  gazed  at  it  with  renewed 
interest,  as  Barney  modestly  proclaimed  himself  the 
owner. 

"Well,  it  isn't  as  easy  as  it  looks.  It's  not  every 
fool  can  drive  a  tandem,  although  I  am  said  to  be  one 
of  the  first  tandem-drivers  in  London,  don't  you 
know.     I  don't  say  so,  of  course ;  but  there  are  those 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


231 


be- 


up 
no- 


w 


ed 
the 


rery 
one 
you 
lose 


who  do,  and  they  are  judges,  too.  But  it's  no  fun 
driving  about  alone :  to  enjoy  tandem-driving  you 
need  to  have  a  pretty  girl  beside  you." 

"  And  are  there  no  pretty  girls  in  Eastbourne  ?  " 

"  There  are,  my  boy,  and  that's  just  what  I  want  to 
talk  with  you  about.  Let's  sit  down  here  in  this  shel- 
ter, because  I  want  your  whole  attention.  Now,  I  did 
you  a  favour  one  day,  even  though  it  was  for  another 
fellow,  didn't  I?" 

**  Yes.     You  have  done  me  at  least  two  favours." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right.  I  may  be  able  to  do  you  a 
third  or  a  fourth, — who  knows? — and  I  mention  it  be- 
cause I'm  about  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  great  one  now. 
That's  what  made  me  so  glad  to  see  you,  don't  yc  i 
know,  as  well,  of  course,  as  the  pleasure  of  talking  with 
you  again  in  this  dismal  hole.  I  was  just  thinking 
about  it,  and  wondering  whom  I  could  get,  when  I 
looked  up,  and  there  you  were.  Providence  always 
helps  me  when  I'm  in  a  pinch — always,  don't  you  know. 
I  never  knew  it  to  fail,  and  yet  I'm  not  what  you'd 
call  a  devout  man  myself.  You've  got  nothing  partic- 
ular to  do  down  here  I  suppose?" 

"  Nothing  but  my  own  pleasure." 

"  Quite  so.  And,  as  there  isn't  any  pleasure  to  be 
had  here,  you  may  just  as  well  turn  round  and  help 
me ;  it  will  be  a  great  lark.  You  see,  I  want  a  man  of 
intelligence,  and  I  don't  suppose  one  is  to  be  found  in 
Eastbourne, — for  if  he  was  intelligent  he  wouldn't  stay. 
Then,  too,  he  must  be  a  man  not  known  in  the  town 
— you  see  what  I  mean  ?  Also,  he  must  know  some- 
thing about  the  labouring  classes  and  their  ways  ;  so 
you  see,  my  boy,  Providence  has  sent  the  very  man  I 
want,  don't  you  know.  Now  promise  that  you  will 
help  me." 

"  If  I  can,  I  will." 

"  Right  you  are !  You're  just  the  individual  who 
can,  and  no  one  else  can  do  it  half  so  well.  Now,  in 
the  first  place,  have  you  ever  seen  Sartwell's daughter? 
He's  only  got  one." 


i' 


H 


u 


^ 


232 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


If  J 

^"^'     J, 


P 


"  Have  I  ever  seen  her  ?  " 

"Yes.  She  was  at  my  reception  the  day  you  were 
there.  I  don't  suppose  you  noticed  her  among  so 
many ;  but  she  was  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  room, 
far  and  away." 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  Miss  Sartwell.  She  used  to  call 
for  her  father  at  his  office  quite  frequently." 

"  Good  again  !  That's  a  fourth  qualification  needed 
by  the  person  who  is  to  help  me,  so  you  see  you  are 
the  man  of  all  men  for  this  job.  Now  it  happens  that 
this  charming  girl  is  at  school  in  Eastbourne,  which  is, 
in  a  word,  the  reason  I  am  here.  I  want  to  get  a  mes- 
sage taken  to  Miss  Sartwell  at  the  school,  and  I  want 
you  to  take  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  go  on  a  mission 
of  that  sort,  Mr.  Hope.  If  Mr.  Sartwell  were  to  find 
out  that  I " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  interrupted  Barney,  placing  his 
hand  confidentially  on  Marsten's  shoulder,  "  it's  all 
right,  I  assure  you.  There  is  really  nothing  surrepti- 
tious about  it.  Heavens  and  earth,  Langton,  you  don't 
think  I'm  that  kind  of  a  man,  I  trust !  Oh,  no !  I've 
the  parental  consent  all  right  enough." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  go  to  the  school  and  see 
her?" 

"  Because,  dear  boy,  the  case  is  just  a  trifle  compli- 
cated, don't  you  know.  I  can  always  get  the  parental 
consent ;  that's  the  money,  you  know.  As  a  general 
thing  the  girls  like  me,  and  I  won't  say  the  money  has 
all  to  do  with  that :  no,  I  flatter  myself,  personal  at- 
tractions, a  fair  amount  of  biains,  and  a  certain  artis- 
tic reputation  come  in  there  ;  but  money  tells  with  the 
older  people.  Now  Sartwell  and  I  understand  each 
other.  Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,  you  know, 
he  says  practically:  *  Barney,  you're  an  ass,  but  you're 
rich,  and  I  don't  suppose  you're  a  bigger  fool  than  the 
average  young  man  of  the  present  day,  so  I  give  you 
a  fair  field  ;  go  in,  my  boy,  and  win.'  I  say  to  Sart- 
well :  '  You're  a  grumpy  old  curmudgeon,  with  no  more 


ve 


ital 

;ral 
las 
at- 

Itis- 
[he 

LCh 
)W, 

're 
Ithe 

'■OU 

irt- 
lore 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


233 


artistic  perception  than  the  Shot  Tower;  but  your 
daughter  is  an  angel,  and  I've  got  money  enough  for 
the  two  of  us.'  You  see,  I  never  did  care  for  money 
except  to  get  what  I  want.  So  there  we  stand.  Sart- 
well  was  coming  down  here  with  me ;  but,  after  I 
started,  he  telegraphed  to  my  studio  that  there  was 
so  much  to  do  in  the  shops,  with  all  the  men  newly 
back,  that  he  would  like  me  to  postpone  my  visit  for 
a  week.  Well,  I  had  to  get  the  horses  and  trap  down 
here  ;  so  I  drove,  and  I  left  London  a  day  earlier  than 
I  expected  to.  Hence  the  present  complication.  I 
called  at  the  school,  asked  to  see  Miss  Sartwell,  say- 
ing I  was  a  friend  of  her  father's ;  but  the  lady  in 
charge  looked  on  me  with  suspicion, — she  did  indeed, 
my  boy,  difficult  to  believe  as  the  statement  is.  The 
lady  said  she  could  not  allow  Miss  Sartwell  to  see  any 
person  unless  that  person  was  accompanied  by  her 
father.  She  would  take  no  message  to  the  girl — and 
there  I  was.  I  wrote  to  Miss  Sartwell  from  my  hotel 
here,  but  the  letter  was  opened  by  the  dragon,  who 
returned  it  to  me,  asking  me  not  to  attempt  to  com- 
municate with  any  of  the  young  ladies  under  her 
charge.  So  here  is  this  stylisii  tandem,  and  there  is 
that  lovely  girl,  while  I  am  wasting  in  the  desert  air, 
longing  to  take  her  out  for  a  drive.  That's  the  situa- 
tion in  a  nut  shell,  don't  you  know,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me  by  taking  a  message  to  Miss  Edna." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  it.  If  you,  with  her 
father's  permission,  could  not  get  a  word  with  her,  how 
can  I  hope  to?" 

**  Oh,  I  have  that  all  arranged.  I  thought  first  o^ 
getting  snme  young  man  in  as  a  carpenter  or  plumber  ; 
but,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  the  pipes  and  the  woodwork 
of  the  school  are  all  right.  Then  an  inspiration  came 
to  me,— I  am  subject  to  inspirations.  The  man  who 
looks  after  the  garden  lives  in  the  town,  and  he  is 
quite  willing  to  assist  me ;  in  fact  I  have  made  it 
worth  his  while,  don't  you  know.  The  trouble  is  that 
all  his  assistants  are  rather  clodhoppers,  and  would  be 


K-m' 


234 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


11    \« 

't 

'■tr,,' 
''   'V'l '  *  - 

/'''Si 


1,1  ''•! 


|»i 


*.> 


1>' 


sure  to  bungle  a  diplomatic  affair  like  this  ;  however,  I 
was  going  to  chance  it  with  one  to-morrow  when  I  saw 
you,  and  said  to  myself :  '  Here  is  the  very  man !  * 
When  Providence  sends  the  right  man  I  always  recog- 
nize him.  That  is  the  whole  secret  of  a  successful 
life,  don't  you  know, — to  be  able  to  recognize  the  gifts 
Providence  sends  at  the  moment  they  are  sent. 
Where  most  people  go  wrong,  don't  you  know,  is  by 
not  appreciating  the  providential  interposition  until 
afterwards.  You  will  put  on  a  gardener's  smock,  take 
a  clumsy  and  unwieldy  broom  in  your  hand,  and  go  to 
High  Cliff  School  to  sweep  the  walks,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  don't  you  know.  Then,  as  the  girls  are  walking 
about,  seize  the  psychological  moment  and  tell  Miss 
Edna  I  am  waiting  down  here  with  the  tandem.  The 
young  ladies  are  allowed  to  walk  out  three  at  a  time. 
Two  of  them  can  sit  back  to  back  with  us,  and  Edna 
will  sit  with  me.  Tell  her  to  choose  two  friends 
whom  she  can  trust,  and  we  will  all  go  for  a  jolly  drive 
together.  If  she  hesitates,  tell  her  I  am  down  here 
with  her  father's  permission,  but  don't  say  that  unless 
as  a  last  resort.  I  would  much  rather  have  her  come 
of  her  own  accord,  don't  you  know." 

"  What  I  fail  to  understand  about  your  plan  is  why 
— if  you  really  have  Mr.  Sartwell's  permission, — no, 
no,  I'm  not  doubting  your  word, — I  should  have  put  it, 
as  you  have  her  father's  permission, — why  do  you  not 
telegraph  him,  saying  you  are  here,  and  get  him  to 
send  a  wire  to  the  mistress  of  the  school,  asking  her 
to  allcw  Miss  Sartwell  to  go  with  you  for  a  drive,  with 
a  proper  chaperon,  of  course  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Langton " 

"  Marsten,  if  you  please." 

*'  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  My  dear  Marsten,  what  you 
suggest  is  delightfully  simple,  and  is  precisely  what 
would  present  itself  to  the  well-regulated  mind.  It 
would  be  the  sane  thing  to  do  and  would  be  so 
charmingly  proper.  But  you  see,  Marsten,  my  boy, 
I  understand  a  thing  or  two  about  women,  which  you 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


235 


-no, 

it, 

not 

to 

her 

rith 


you 

^hat 

It 

so 

|boy, 

you 


may  not  yet  have  had  experience  enough  to  learn.  I 
don't  want  too  much  parental  sanction  about  this  af- 
fair, because  a  young  girl  delights  in  an  innocent  little 
escapade  on  her  own  account, — don't  you  see  what  I 
mean  ?  Of  course,  if  the  villain  of  the  piece  is  baffled, 
he  will  ultimately  appeal  to  the  proper  authority ;  but 
you  know  I  have  already  seen  a  good  deal  of  the 
young  lady  under  the  parental  wing — if  I  may  so  state 
the  fact ;  and  although  she  is  pleasant  enough  and  all 
that,  I  don't  seem  to  be  making  as  much  progress  with 
her  as  I  would  like,  don't  you  know.  Now  a  little 
flavour  of — well,  you  understand  what  I  mean  — 
thingumbob — you  know — romance,  and  that  sort  of 
thing — is  worth  all  the  cut-and-dried  *  Bless-you-my- 
children  '  in  the  market.  You'll  know  all  about  that, 
as  you  grow  older,  my  boy." 

'*  Mr.  Hope " 

"  Look  here,  my  boy,  call  me  Barney.  Few  of  my 
friends  say  *  Mr.  Hope,'  and  when  any  one  does  say 
it,  I  always  think  he  is  referring  to  my  father,  who 
is  at  this  moment  giddily  enjoying  his  precious  self 
at  Dresden,  or  thereabouts.  You  were  about  to 
say " 

"  I  was  about  to  say  I  would  very  much  like  to 
oblige  you,  but  I  have  scruples  about  doing  what  you 
ask  of  me." 

*'  Marsten — you'll  forgive  me,  won't  you  ? — but  I'm 
afraid  you're  very  much  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Fellows  always  want  to  oblige  you,  but  they  don't 
want  to  do  the  particular  obligement  that  you  happen 
to  want — if  I  make  myself  clear.  If  you  want  to 
borrow  a  fiver,  they  will  do  any  mortal  thing  you 
wish  but  lend  it.  Now  it  happens  that,  so  far  from 
wanting  a  fiver,  I'll  give  you  one — or  a  ten-pound 
note,  for  that  matter — if  you  will  do  this,  don't  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  if  I  did  it  at  all,  I  wouldn't  take  money  for 
doing  it." 

"  But  I  don't  want  a  fellow  to  work  for  love,  don't 


i 


M 


1  '!S| 


U\ 


i 


236 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


you  know.  I  don't  believe  in  that.  If  I  sell  a  pic- 
ture I  want  my  money  for  it — yes,  by  Jove,  I  do !  " 

"  If  I  did  this,  it  would  be  entirely  for  love  and  for 
no  other  consideration.  But  I  don't  think  I  would  be 
acting  fairly  and  honourably  if  I  did  it.  I  can't  ex- 
plain to  you  why  I  think  this  ;  my  whole  wish  is  to  do 
what  you  ask  me,  and  yet  I  feel  sure,  if  I  were  thor- 
oughly honest,  as  I  would  like  to  be,  I  should  at  once 
say  '  No.'  " 

**  My  dear  fellow,  I  honour  your  scruples;  but  I 
assure  you  they  are  misplaced  in  this  instance.  They 
are,  really.  Besides,  I  have  your  promise,  and  I'm 
going  to  hold  you  to  it.  It  isn't  as  though  I  were 
going  to  run  iway  with  the  girl,  and  marry  her  against 
her  own  wisn  and  the  wishes  of  her  combined  rela- 
tives. If  I  wanted  to  see  the  girl  against  her  father's 
will — well,  then  there  might  be  something  to  urge 
in  opposition  to  my  project ;  but  I'm  not, — and  don't 
you  see  that  fact  makes  all  the  difference  in  the 
world?  Of  course  you  do.  Why,  a  man  ought  to  do 
anything  for  the  girl  he  loves,  and  he's  a  poltroon  if 
he  doesn't.  That's  why  I'm  taking  all  this  trouble 
and  staying  in  this  town  of  the  forlorn.  If  a  girl 
doesn't  find  you  taking  some  little  trouble  in  order  to 
see  her,  why  she  is  not  going  to  think  very  much  or 
often  about  you  ,  take  my  word  for  that." 

'*  I  believe  you  are  right.     I'll  go." 

*'  You're  a  brick,  Marsten  !  yes,  my  boy,  a  brick !  " 
cried  Barney,  enthusiastically,  slapping  his  comrade 
on  the  shoulder. 

**  A  brick  of  very  common  clay,  I'm  afraid,  Mr. 
Hope.  I  suppose  you  believe  in  the  saying,  '  All's 
fair  in  love  '  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  dear  boy ;  it  is  the  maxim  on 
which  I  regulate  my  daily  life." 

**  Very  well.  I  will  not  take  a  verbal  message,  for  I 
may  not  have  an  opportunity  to  deliver  it ;  besides, 
I  might  forget  something,  or  give  it  a  misleading 
twist.     If  you  will  write  exactly  what  you  want  Miss 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY.  217 

and  rif  l^r^  ^'■^'  "^^  '"^"•'     Now  come   with  me 
ana  i  11   introduce  vou  to  the  a^vAa^r^^^  I 

see  if  he  has  a  blous^e  that  will  fifyou."      P'''°"'  """^ 


'  m 


^f^ 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


■'^isl 


In  the  morning  Barney  took  Marsten  to  the  house 
of  the  friendly  gardener,  whose  good  will  had  been  se- 
cured through  the  corrupting  influences  of  wealth, 
and  there  the  young  man  donned  the  blouse  that  was 
supposed  to  give  him  that  horticultural  air  necessary 
for  the  part  he  had  to  play.  Marsten  was  very  serious 
about  it ;  but  Barney  seemed  to  enjoy  the  masquerade 
to  the  utmost,  and  wanted  to  take  the  amateur  gar- 
dener to  be  photographed,  so  that  there  might  be  a 
picture  as  a  memento  of  the  occasion. 

At  last  Marsten  got  away,  with  the  broom  on  his 
shoulder,  and,  presenting  himself  at  High  Cliff  grounds, 
was  admitted  without  question.  He  made  no  at- 
tempt to  conceal  from  himself  the  fact  that  he  did 
not  like  the  fraud  he  was  about  to  practise,  but  when 
his  conscience  upbraided  him,  he  asked  of  it  what 
better  plan  it  had  to  propose,  and  to  this  there  was 
no  reply. 

The  grounds  were  empty  when  he  reached  them, 
and  with  his  natural  shrewdness  he  applied  himself 
first  to  the  walks  that  were  in  public  view  ;  so  that, 
when  the  young  girls  came  out,  he  might  be  in  the 
more  secluded  portion  of  the  plantation,  where  he  was 
sure  the  rules  of  the  school  would  require  them  to 
take  the  air.  His  surmise  proved  correct,  and  the 
young  man  felt  more  embarrassed  than  he  had  even 
suspected  he  would  be,  when  he  suddenly  found  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  fluttering  bevy  of  girls,  all  chat- 
tering, but  happily  none  paying  the  least  attention  to 
him.  He  had  not  counted  on  the  presence  of  any  of 
the  teachers ;  but  three  of  them  were  there,  who,  how- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


239 


ever,  sat  on  a  garden  seat  and  did  not  seem  overbur- 
dened with  anxiety  about  the  pupils  under  their  care. 

Edna  Sartwell  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  with  a  finger 
between  the  pages,  but  she  walked  up  and  down  with 
another  girl,  talking  in  a  low  tone.  Marsten  hoped 
the  book  was  an  interesting  one,  and  wished  the  girl 
would  go  into  some  secluded  corner  to  read  it ;  for  he 
began  to  see  that  his  enterprise  was  not  going  to  be  so 
easy  of  accomplishment  as  he  expected,  even  though 
he  had  gained  admittance  to  the  grounds,  which  at 
first  had  seemed  the  most  difficult  move  in  the  game. 
The  book  at  last  gave  him  the  opportunity  he  sought : 
Edna  and  her  companion  stood  together  for  a  mo- 
ment after  their  walk,  then  each  went  her  separate 
wa\\ 

In  a  corner  of  the  grounds  was  a  secluded  summer- 
house,  screened  from  the  view  of  the  school  by  a  wil- 
derness of  trees  and  shrubs,  almost  out  of  hearing  of 
the  lively  chatter  that  made  the  air  merry  elsewhere  ; 
and  to  this  quiet  spot  Edna  betook  herself,  reading 
the  book  as  she  walked,  for  the  paths  thither  were 
evidently  familiar  to  her.  Marsten  followed,  slowly 
at  first,  then  more  quickly  as  the  chances  of  observa- 
tion lessened,  his  heart  beating  faster  than  the  exer- 
tion he  was  making  warranted.  The  girl  was  seated 
in  the  little  chdlet  when  Marsten's  figure  darkened  the 
entrance. 

"  Miss  Sartwell,**  was  all  he  could  say. 

Edna  sprang  to  her  feet,  letting  the  book  fall  to  the 
floor,  and  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes  that  had 
wo  recognition  in  them. 

"  I  see  you  don't  know  me,  and  no  wonder ;  tor  I 
did  not  wear  gardener's  clothes  when  I  stood  last  in 
your  garden.'* 

A  bright  flush  of  pleasure  overspread  the  girl's  face, 
and  laughter  came  first  to  her  eyes,  then  to  her  lips. 

"  How  you  frightened  me  !"  she  said,  seeming  any. 
thing  but  frightened,  and  quite  unable  to  restrain  her 
merriment,  as  her  glance  flashed  up  and  down  his  un- 


240 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


^1 


I 


'^^. 

**«! 


*''% 


i 


couth  apparel.  "  Have  you  become  gardener  here, 
then,  or  did  you  come  over  the  wall?  " 

**  The  walls  here  are  too  high,  or  I  might  have  at- 
tempted them.  I  am  gardener  for  the  day  only,  and 
merely  to  get  a  word  with  you." 

''With  me?  I  thought  the  strike  had  happily 
ended.  Haven't  you  gone  back  to  work  ?  How  did 
you  get  away?  " 

"  Oh,  there  was  no  difficulty  about  that !  I  can 
always  get  a  day  off  when  I  want  it.  Yes,  I  went 
back  to  work  and  have  been  busy  ever  since.  I  came 
here  yesterday  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you.  It  was 
very  important — for  me,  at  least." 

"  Has  the  desired  promotion  come  so  soon,  then,  or 
do  you  think  I  must  speak  to  my  father  about  your 
position  when  I  next  see  him  ?  I  expected  him  here 
before  this,  but  he  writes  that  there  is  so  much  to  be 
done,  now  the  men  arc  back,  that  he  will  be  unable  to 
come  for  perhaps  a  week  or  more." 

"  I  have  not  come  here  to  beg  for  your  father's 
favour,  but  for  yours.  I  love  you,  Edna,  and  I  have 
loved  you  ever  since  I  first  saw  you  !  Don't  imagine  I 
am  so — so  conceited — that  I  have  even  a  hope  that 
you — you — care  for  me,  for  of  course  you  don't  and 
can't;  but  I  wanted  you  to  know.  I  wanted  to  tell 
you,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.  I  am  poor, — I  don't 
deny  that, — but  your  father  was  also  poor  once,  and  he 
has  got  on  in  the  world.  I  will  get  on ;  I  will  work 
night  and  day.  Whoever  my  master  is,  I  will  serve 
him  faithfully, — my  God !  I  will  serve  him  on  my 
knees,  if  that  will  convince  him  of  my  earnestness  to 
win  confidence  and  a  place  of  trust, — and  all  the  time 
cheerfully  and  hopefully,  with  your  picture  in  my 
mind,  as  it  has  been  in  my  mind — for  so  long — from 
the  first.  You  see,  I  have  no  chance  to  win  you  as 
another  might.  You  are  in  this  school  for  the  very 
purpose  of  keeping  me  from  meeting  you  as  I  might 
meet  you  if  I  were  rich.  I  have  no  fair  chance — none 
at  all,  except  what  I  Jteal  for  myself,  as  I  have  done 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


241 


my 
to 
me 
my 
om 
as 
ery 
jht 
)ne 
)ne 


I 


to-day.  It  means  so  much  to  me — everything ! — that 
I  did  not  dare  to  take  the  risk.  I  know  I  have  spoken 
too  soon — too  abruptly — but  I  dared  not  set  my  face 
at  what  is  before  me  unless  you  knew.  Some  one 
might  win  you  while  I  >  is  working  for  you — there 
will  be  plenty  to  try.  I  uun't  want  you  to  say  a  word 
— I  want  neither  hope  nor  discouragement — no  prom- 
ise— nothing!  You  know,  and  that  is  enough  for  me 
now.  But  I  would  like  you  to  remember — sometimes 
— that  there  is  no  man  striving  s  I  shall  strive. 
Think  of  that — when  others  speak.  My  darling — my 
darling — no  man  ever  felt  as  I  feel  since  the  beginning 
of  the  world  !  " 

Whatever  diffidence  Marsten  hitherto  experienced 
in  Edna's  presence  melted  in  the  fervent  heat  of  his 
passion  when  he  began  to  speak.  The  words  rushed 
forth,  treading  on  the  heels  of  those  gone  before,  in 
jumbled,  breathless  procession;  his  face  was  aflame, 
and  his  nether  lip  trembled  when  he  ceased  to  speak. 
At  first  he  seemed  to  be  running  a  race  against  time — 
they  might  be  interrupted  at  any  moment ;  but  he 
soon  forgot  his  competitor,  and,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, no  one  existed  in  the  world  but  himself  and 
the  trembling,  confused  girl  before  him. 

She,  after  her  first  look  of  amazed  incredulity,  felt 
backward  with  her  hand  for  the  support  of  the  wall, 
and  then  gradually  sank  upon  the  seat,  an  expression, 
partly  fear,  overspreading  her  now  colourless  face. 
As  Marsten  went  impetuously  on,  her  head  dropped 
upon  her  hands,  and  thus  she  remained  while  he  spoke. 

A  pause  ensued,  so  deep  and  silent  that  Marsten, 
as  he  leaned  his  hand  against  the  door-post,  afraid  to 
move  forward  or  retreat,  heard  the  distant  girlish 
laughter,  free  from  any  thought  of  problems  other 
than  those  of  the  schoolroom.  He  knew  he  should 
remember  every  trivial  detail  of  the  place  all  his  life, 
— the  broom  that  lay  at  his  feet ;  the  book  which  had 
fallen  open-leaved  upon  the  floor;  even  the  title  glit- 
tering in  gold  on  the  side,  which  sent  no  meaning  to 


242 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


his  mind  except  one  word  that  caught  his  attention, 
—  "Courtship"  ("The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  " 
was  the  whole  phrase),  and  he  wondered  vaguely  if  the 
courtship  had  prospered.  Rapidly  as  his  wondering 
eye  gathered  up  the  accessories  of  the  scene,  it  al- 
ways returned  to  the  bowed  and  silent  figure  before 
him,  and  something  in  the  outlines  of  her  drooping 
shoulders  told  him  intuitively  of  a  change — elusive,  but 
real.  His  mind  had  been  too  much  occupied  with  the 
hard  realities  of  life  to  indulge  in  speculative  analysis 
of  any  sort,  but  now  it  was  uplifted,  touched  by  the 
magic  wand  of  love,  and  endowed  with  a  subtle  per- 
ception unknown  to  him  before.  He  saw  that  the  girl, 
who,  as  a  child,  welcomed  him,  would,  as  a  woman,  bid 
him  farewell. 

At  last  she  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  It  cannot  be — it  cannot  be  !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Not  now.  I  know  that — I  don't  ask  that !  "  he 
cried,  eagerly.     "  But — some  time — some  time  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  look  up. 

"  It  can  never  be — never!  "  she  said. 

"  All  I  want  is  a  chance — a  fair  chance.  Don't — oh, 
please  don't  say  *  No '  or  *  Yes  '  now  !  Your  father  is 
prejudiced  against  me,  I  know  ;  not  against  me  person- 
ally, I  think,  but  because  I  am  poor:  it  is  only 
another  expression  of  his  great  love  for  you.  He 
knows  what  poverty  is,  and  he  wants  to  shield  you 
from  it.  He  is  right,  and  if  I  am  as  poor  two  years 
from  now,  or  four  years,  I  shall  not  ask " 

"  Does  my  father  know  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  told  him  that  night — the  night  you  first 
spoke  to  me.     That  is  why  he  is  angry." 

"  Then  that  is  why  you — that  is  the  reason — when 
you  were  in  the  garden " 

"  Yes,  that  is  why  I  was  afraid  to  have  him  find  me 
there." 

Again  there  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  The 
thoughts  of  the  girl  ranged  back  over  her  past  life, 
from  the  time  her  father  forbade  her  to  come  to  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


243 


The 

life, 

5  the 


office  until  the  present  moment,  flashing  like  a  search- 
light upon  events  hitherto  misunderstood,  making 
them  stand  out  in  their  true  proportions.  All  her 
father's  actions,  his  words,  had  to  be  reconsidered. 
She  saw  meanings  in  former  phrases  that  had  been 
hidden  from  her:  she  had  now  the  key  that  unlocked 
the  room  illumined  by  knowledge ;  and  although  her 
heart  yearned  towards  her  father,  sympathizing  with 
him  when  confronted  by  an  unexpect  d  problem,  and 
fully  condoning  his  apparent  lack  of  trust  in  keeping 
her  ignorant  of  a  situation  so  closely  concerning  her- 
self, feeling  that  she  ought  to  stand  by  him  and  repel 
the  stranger  who  had  so  daringly  come  between  them 
with  his  preposterous  claim  upon  her  affection,  yet 
from  no  part  of  her  being  could  she  call  to  her  aid 
that  emotion  of  just  resentment  against  Marsten 
which  she  knew  ought  to  be  at  her  command. 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry,"  she  said  at  last,  speaking 
slowly.  "  I  like  you,  of  course — I  think  you  are  a 
noble,  earnest  man,  and  that  you  will  do  good  and 
overcome  many  difficulties  ;  but  I  don't  care  for  you 
in  the  way  you  wish,  and  it  would  not  be  right  to  be 
dishonest  with  you.  I  should  like  to  see  you  get  on 
in  the  world,  and  I  am  sure  you  will.  Some  day  you 
will  write  to  me  and  tell  me  of  your  victories,  and  I 
shall  be  glad.  It  will  make  me  happy  then  to  know  you 
have  forgotten — this.    Now  you  must  go.    Good-by  !  " 

She  rose,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  he  saw 
her  eyes  were  wet. 

"  Good-by  !  "  he  said,  turning  away. 

Edna  sat  down,  but  did  not  pick  up  her  book. 
With  her  hands  listless  in  her  lap,  she  gazed  out  at  the 
blue  sky,  thinking.  Presently,  to  her  surprise,  Marsten 
returned. 

"You  have  forgotten  your  broom,"  she  said,  with  a 
wavering  smile  trembling  on  her  lips. 

"  I  had  forgotten  more  than  that,"  he  said,  "  I  had 
forgotten  my  mission." 

*'  Your  mission  ?" 


^ 


T^ 


244 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


n;|'-, 


"  Yes ;  my  false  pretences  do  not  stop  at  climbing 
walls.  I  am  really  a  traitorous  messenger;  for  the 
device  by  which  I  came  here  was  arranged  by  another, 
who  wished  me  to  take  a  letter  to  you.  He  is  in 
Eastbourne,  and  had  written  to  you,  but  his  letter 
was  returned  to  him.  He  has  written  another — here 
it  is." 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?" 

"  Mr.  Barnard  Hope." 

"Oh!" 

She  took  the  letter.  Marsten  lifted  his  broom  and 
went  away.  He  wanted  to  leave  the  place  and  get 
back  to  London  ;  but  the  gardener  had  cautioned  him 
not  to  return  until  the  sweeping  was  finished,  while 
Barney  himself  impressed  upon  him  the  necessity  of 
allowing  no  suspicion  to  arise,  as  it  might  be  needful 
to  despatch  another  messenger  on  a  similar  errand. 
So  he  kept  on  sweeping  the  debris  into  little  heaps  by 
t  le  side  of  the  path.  The  schoolgirls  disappeared 
into  the  house  by  twos  and  threes,  until  he  found  him- 
self once  more  alone,  and  yet  he  did  not  see  Edna 
come  from  the  summer-house.  He  moved  nearer  and 
nearer  with  his  work  to  the  place  where  they  had  met, 
hoping  to  catch  a  parting  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
walked  towards  the  house.  At  last  she  came  out ;  but 
insterd  of  taking  the  direct  path  to  the  house  she 
came  towards  him,  with  the  thin  volume  she  had  been 
reading  in  her  hand.  There  was  a  slight  increase  of 
the  usual  colour  in  her  cheeks,  but  with  that  excep- 
tion she  had  succeeded  in  suppressing  all  trace  of  her 
emotion.  She  looked  at  him  with  what  seemed,  at 
first,  all  her  former  straightforwardness ;  but,  as  he 
met  her  gaze,  he  saw  it  was  not  quite  the  same :  a 
misty  shadow  of  difference  veiled  her  honest  eyes,  so 
like  her  father's,  but  so  much  kindlier. 

"  I  have  brought  you  this  book,"  she  said,  holding 
it  out  to  him,  "  and  I  want  you  to  keep  it.  It  is  the 
story  of  a  messenger  who  was  true  to  the  trust  of  the 
one  who  sent  him,  and  yet  who  failed." 


ibing 
r  the 
Dther, 
is  in 
letter 
-here 


11  and 
id  get 
d  him 
while 
sity  of 
eedful 
Trand. 
ips  by 
reared 
d  him- 
Edna 
er  and 
met, 
she 
but 
she 
been 
ase  of 
sxcep- 
of  her 
led,  at 
as  he 
me;  a 
^es,  so 


IS 


se 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


245 


"  But  you  have  not  read  the  book  yourself?  "  he  re- 
plied, taking  the  volume,  nevertheless. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I  was  reading  it  for  the  second 
time  to-day." 

As  he  hastily  concealed  the  book  under  his  blouse, 
he  looked  anxiously  auout  him,  fearing  they  might  be 
observed,  unwilling  to  compromise  her  in  the  least. 
The  craft  of  a  man  is  rarely  equal  to  that  of  a  woman, 
no  matter  how  young  she  may  be.  Edna  smiled  as 
she  noticed  his  perturbation. 

"  There  is  no  one  to  see  us,"  she  said,  "  and  if  there 
were,  it  would  not  matter.  They  would  merely  think 
I  was  giving  improving  literature  and  good  advice  to 
an  under-gardener — which,  indeed,  is  exactly  what  I 
am  doing  when  I  tell  him  to  work  hard,  and — for- 
get ! " 

As  Edna  said  this  she  opened  her  hand  and  allowed 
to  flutter  upon  the  heap  at  his  feet  the  minute  frag- 
ments of  a  letter,  which  floated  down  through  the  air 
like  a  miniature  snowfall,  and  she  was  gone  before  he 
could  say  "  Good-by  "  for  the  second  time. 

Marsten  stood  there  looking  down  at  the  bits  of 
torn  paper  scattered  over  the  heap,  the  remnants,  un- 
doubtedly, of  the  letter  he  had  brought ;  and  although 
he  had  had  no  word  of  encouragement — which,  in  spite 
of  his  disclaimer,  he  had  yearned  to  hear — each  sepa- 
rate piece  of  white  paper  reflected  upwards  to  him  a 
ray  of  hope. 


olding 
is  the 
of  the 


in 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Sartwell,  as  he  had  written  to  his  daughter  and 
telegraphed  to  Barney  Hope,  found  himself  very  busy, 
now  the  men  had  come  back.  Although  he  dismissed 
none  who  had  taken  part  in  the  strike,  he  rearranged, 
with  a  dogged  ruthlessness,  the  whole  service  of  the 
works.  Few  men  got  their  old  jobs  back  again,  or  their 
old  wages.  There  were  promotions  and  retrograda- 
tions,  although  no  one  was  discharged.  At  first  it 
seemed  to  the  men  that  this  was  a  mere  brutal  display 
of  power,  presided  over  by  wanton  caprice,  but  as  time 
went  on  they  began  to  see  the  glimmering  of  a  method 
in  the  weaving  of  the  web.  Those  who  were  degraded 
to  the  meanest  and  most  poorly  paid  work  the  firm  had 
to  offer  were  the  men  who  had  been  most  hot-headed 
in  bringing  on  the  strike,  and  the  most  persistent  in 
opposing  its  conclusion.  The  soberer  heads  among  the 
men,  who  had  been  thrust  into  the  background  during 
the  agitation,  were  in  every  instance  given  promotion 
and  higher  pay ;  and  as  these  changes  took  place  one 
after  another — for  Sartwell  was  not  the  man  to  disor- 
ganize the  works  by  any  sweepingly  radical  changes — 
the  general  conclusion  was  that  the  manager  merely 
desired  to  show  the  men  that  those  whom  they  had 
valued  lightly  were  the  workmen  whom  he  prized.  Yet 
it  could  not  be  denied,  even  by  those  who  lost  in  the 
game  of  reorganization,  that  the  more  conservative 
men  thus  advanced  were  among  the  most  capable 
workmen  in  the  factory.  They  were  the  men  who 
had  most  to  lose  by  a  strike,  and  had  naturally  been 
most  reluctant  to  enter  into  a  contest  the  end  of  which 
no  one  could  foresee.     By-and-by  it  began  to  be  sus- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


247 


and 
busy, 
lissed 
tiged, 
f  the 
their 
jrada- 
rst    it 
isplay 
5  time 
ethod 
:raded 
Ti  had 
eaded 
ent  in 
igthe 
uring 
otion 
:e  one 
Idisor- 
|ges— 
lerely 
had 
Yet 
lin  the 
native 
Lpable 
who 
been 
Iwhich 
le  sus- 


pected that  the  manager  must  have  in  his  possession 
a  complete  and  accurate  record  of  every  action  and 
speech  during  the  strike,  so  entirely  did  his  shifting 
about  of  the  pawns,  which  he  played  with  such  cool 
and  silent  relentlessness,  coincide  with  the  doings  of 
each  piece  during  the  trouble  they  thought  was  past 
and  hoped  had  been  forgotten.  In  some  instances  it 
seemed  as  if  Sartwell  had  deliberately  m.arked  the  con- 
trast by  bringing  the  degraded  and  the  elevated  into 
purposeful  juxtaposition,  so  that  his  design  in  show- 
ing that  he  held  the  future  of  each  man  in  his  hand 
could  not  be  misunderstood  by  even  the  most  stupid 
of  his  employees.  It  was  a  grim  object  lesson,  appar- 
ently intended  to  convey  Sartwell's  determination  to 
stick  by  the  men  who,  even  remotely,  had  sympathized 
with  him  in  the  late  struggle  ;  for  not  a  word  was 
spoken,  and  when  a  man  protested  humbly  against  de- 
basement, the  manager  made  no  reply,  and  the  work- 
man knew  he  had  either  to  submit  or  to  apply  for  his 
wages  at  the  office. 

In  no  instance  was  the  evidence  of  Sartwell's  silent 
wrath  more  manifest  than  in  the  cases  of  Braunt  and 
Scimmins.  The  two  men  had  been  equal  in  position 
when  the  strike  began,  although  Scimmins  received 
rather  more  money  than  Braunt.  Now  Braunt  was 
made  superintendent  of  the  upper  floor,  where  most  of 
the  employees  were  women  and  boys,  while  Scimmins 
was  given  the  work  which  one  of  the  boys  who  did  not 
return  at  the  end  of  the  strike  had  done.  Scimmins 
had  the  double  humiliation  of  being  under  the  none 
too  gentle  orders  of  the  big  Yorkshireman  whom  he 
had  flouted  during  the  strike,  and  also  of  having  to 
accept  little  more  than  boy's  wages.  He  cursed 
Sartwell  loud  and  often  ;  but  the  manager  was  a  man 
who  paid  little  heed  to  the  curses  of  others,  and  Scim- 
mins was  not  in  a  position  to  refuse  the  small  pay  he 
received. 

Sartwell  had  at  last  arranged  the  interior  economy 
of  the  factory  to  his  liking,  and  was  just  promising 


,  t 


;.  i 


mm» 


mmm 


■iS 


248 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


u    \ 


ii:.'i>^a 


himself  a  few  days  free  from  worry  down  at  East- 
bourne, when  a  most  unlooked-for  disaster  overturned 
all  his  plans.  Shortly  before  the  dinner  hour  he  was 
coming  down  the  stairs  from  the  upper  floor,  when  a 
shriek,  which  seemed  to  be  the  combined  voices  of 
those  he  had  left  a  moment  before,  paralyzed  him 
where  he  stood.  The  first  thought  that  flashed 
through  his  mind  was  that  Braunt  had  gone  suddenly 
mad,  and,  perhaps,  killed  some  one ;  for  the  manager 
had  noticed,  since  Braunt's  promotion,  that  he  some- 
times spoke  wildly,  while  now  and  agran  there  was  a 
dangerous  maniacal  gleam  in  his  eye  which  betokened 
latent  insanity.  Before  he  could  turn  around,  two 
dishevelled,  screaming  women  passed  him. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  he  shouted  after  them. 

'*  Fire  !  "  they  shrieked  back  at  him  as  they  fled. 

As  Sartwell  bounded  up  the  stairs  he  met  no  more 
coming  down.  He  heard  outside  in  the  yard  a  man's 
deep  voice  hoarsely  shouting,  "  Fire !  Fire ! "  The 
manager's  heart  sank  as  he  thought  of  the  numbers 
on  the  upper  floor,  the  narrow  stairway,  and  the  single 
exit.  The  other  floors  were  reasonably  safe,  with 
broad  stairways  and  wide  doors ;  but  the  upper  floor, 
which  formerly  had  but  few  occupants,  had  long  been 
a  source  of  anxiety  to  him,  fearing,  as  he  did,  just  such 
a  catastrophe  as  now  seemed  imminent.  The  remedy- 
ing of  this  had  often  been  agreed  upon  by  both  the 
owners  and  himself,  and  was  among  the  good  inten- 
tions which  were  at  various  times  postponed  to  a. 
more  convenient  season, — and  now  the  cry  of  **  Fire!  " 
was  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  the  narrow  stair  was  the 
only  means  of  escape  ! 

He  found  the  open  doorway  blocked  by  a  mass  of 
howling  human  beings,  each  wild  to  escape,  and  each 
making  escape  impossible.  They  were  wedged  and 
immovable,  many  too  tightly  compressed  to  struggle, 
while  others  farther  back  thrashed  wildly  about  with 
their  arms,  trying  to  fight  their  way  to  safety.  The 
dangerous  aromatic  smell  of   burning  pine  filled  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


249 


East- 
irned 
2  was 
hen  a 
:es  of 
I  him 
ashed 
denly 
Lnager 
some- 
was  a 
ikened 
d,  two 


ied. 

0  more 
L  man's 
'  The 
Limbers 

1  single 
with 

r  floor, 
g  been 
t  such 
medy- 
th  the 
inten- 
to  a. 
ire! 
as  the 

lass  of 

id  each 
led  and 
Iruggle, 

Vit  with 
The 

ked  the 


air,  and  smoke  poured  up  through  the  hft  shaft,  and 
rolled  in  ever-increasing  density  along  the  ceiling. 
There  was  no  flame  as  yet ;  but  if  the  jam  could  not 
be  broken,  it  would  not  need  the  fire  itself  to  smother 
the  life  out  of  those  in  the  hopeless  contest. 

"  Stand  back  there  !  "  cried  Sartwell.  "  There  is  no 
danger  if  you  but  keep  cool.  All  of  you  go  back  to 
your  places.  I'll  go  in  with  you  and  be  the  last  to 
leave,  so  there's  nothing  to  fear." 

A  red  tongue  of  flame  flashed  for  the  winking  of  an 
eye  amidst  the  black  smoke,  disappearing  almost  as 
soon  as  it  came,  but  sending  a  momentary  glow  like 
sheet  lightning  over  the  rapidly  darkening  room.  It 
was  a  brief  but  ominous  reply  to  Sartwell's  words,  and 
he  saw  he  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  tempest. 
He  tried  to  extricate  one  of  the  girls,  whose  wildly- 
staring  eyes  and  pallid  lips  showe^'  she  was  being 
crushed  to  death,  but  she  was  wedged  as  firmly  in  the 
mass  as  if  cemented  there.  Sartwell,  with  a  groan  of 
despair,  saw  he  was  powerless  m  the  face  of  this  irre- 
sistible panic.  He  was  attacking  the  wedge  at  the 
point,  and  so  was  at  a  tremendous  disadvantage. 

An  angry  roar,  louder  than  his  shoct  had  been,  called 
his  attention  to  the  fart  that  Braunt  was  making  an 
assault  on  the  wedge  from  the  rear.  The  big  man, 
using  his  immense  strength  mercilessly,  was  cleaving 
his  way  through  the  mass,  grasping  the  women  with 
both  hands  by  the  shoulders,  and  flinging  them,  with 
a  reckless  carelessness  of  consequences,  behind  him, 
fighting  his  way  inch  by  inch  towards  the  door. 

"  Si;and  back,  ye  villain  !  "  Braunt  roared  to  Scim- 
mins,  who,  crazed  by  fear,  was  trampling  down  all 
ahead  of  him  in  his  frantic  efforts  to  escape. 

"  It's  every  one  for  himself!  "  screamed  Scimmins. 
*'  I  have  as  much  right  to  my  life  as  you  have  to 
yours." 

"  Stand  back,  ye  ruffian,  or  Ah'U  strangle  ye  when 
Ah  get  ma  hands  on  ye!  Stand  ye  there,  Mr.  Sart- 
well, an*  catch  them  when  Ah  throw  them  t'  ye.     The 


250 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


.1        ! 


i< 


women  first.  Fling  them  down  past  the  turn  o'  the 
stair  an'  they'll  be  safe.  Stand  ye  there ;  Ah'll  be  at 
the  door  this  minute.  We'll  have  them  all  out  in  a 
jiffy." 

While  he  shouted  Braunt  tore  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  and  at  last  reached  the  knot  in  the  jam  where 
further  progress  was  impossible.  Here  he  stood,  and 
by  the  simple  power  of  his  arms  lifted  girl  after  girl 
straight  up,  and  hurled  them  over  the  heads  of  those 
in  front  into  Sartwell's  arms,  who  pushed  them  on 
down  the  stairs. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Scimmins,"  cried  Sartwell,  who 
from  his  position  could  see  the  fear-demented  man 
pressing   the    crowd    on  Braunt  and  hampering  him, 

be  a  man,  and  stand  back !  Don't  fight !  There's 
time  for  all  to  get  out." 

"  Ah'll  crack  your  skull  for  ye !  "  shouted  Braunt 
hoarsely,  over  his  shoulder.  "  Remember  ye've  to 
pass  me  before  ye  get  to  the  stair,  an'  little  good  your 
fightin'  'ill  do  ye." 

At  last  the  knot  dissolved,  as  a  long  jam  on  a  river 
suddenly  gives  way  when  the  key-log  is  removed. 
Braunt  stood  now  with  his  back  against  the  door-post, 
while  Sartwell  took  his  place  at  the  turn  of  the  stairs, 
strenuously  flinging  torn  and  ragged  items  of  hu- 
manity into  safety.  Several  of  those  who  had  been  at 
the  point  of  the  wedge  lay  at  his  feet,  senseless  or  dead 
— there  was  no  time  to  discover  which.  Now  and  then 
a  girl  he  hurled  down  the  stair  tottered,  fell,  and  lay 
where  she  fell. 

"  Why  doesn't  some  one  come  to  carry  those  women 
out  ?"  groaned  the  manager,  who  had  asked  one  after 
another  whom  he  had  saved  to  send  help  to  him. 

At  last  two  of  his  men  appeared. 

*'  It's  a  bad  fire,  Mr.  Sartwell,"  said  one. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Take  down  two  each,  if  you 
can,  and  send  up  more  men.  Tell  the  clerks  to  see 
that  the  iron  doo-  oetween  the  buildings  are  closed. 
Are  the  firemen  here  ?  " 


I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


251 


o'  the 
I  be  at 
ut  in  a 

gh  the 
where 
3d,  and 
ter  girl 
f  those 
lem  on 

;11,  who 
-d  man 
-ig  him, 
There's 

Braunt 
'c've  to 
od  your 

1  a  river 

emoved. 

)or-post, 

stairs, 

of  hu- 

Dcen  at 

or  dead 

nd  then 

and  lay 

women 
ne  after 
■im. 


,  if  you 

s  to  sec 

;  closed. 


"  Five  engines,  sir." 

"  Good  !  Get  down  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  send 
up  more  help." 

**  Ye  devil  !  Do  ye  think  to  sneak  past  me  ?  "  cried 
Braunt,  seizing  Scimmins,  who  had  at  last  fought  his 
way  through. 

'*  Don't  waste  time  with  that  man,  Braunt.  My 
God,  don't  you  see  the  flames  !  The  roof  will  be  in 
on  us  in  a  minute  !     Fling  him  down  here !  " 

"  He  stays  behind  me  till  the  last  soul's  out," 
snarled  Braunt,  between  his  teeth. 

Sartwell  said  no  more.  It  was  no  time  to  argue  or 
expostulate,  and  Braunt,  although  pinning  Scimmins 
to  the  wall  behind  him,  continued  to  extricate  the 
women  as  fast  as  the  manager  could  pass  them  along. 
The  knot  was  continually  forming  at  the  door,  and 
was  as  continually  unloosed  by  the  stalwart,  indefati- 
gable arms  of  Braunt. 

"You  are  smothering  me,"  whined  Scimmins. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Braunt. 

The  situation  was  now  h?.rdly  to  be  borne  The 
smoke  ascending  the  stairway  met  the  smoke  pour- 
ing through  the  ('oor,  yet,  in  spite  of  the  smoke,  the 
room  was  bright,  lor  a  steady  column  of  flame  roared 
up  through  the  shi  ft,  making  it  like  a  blast-furnace. 

"Are  they  all  out?"  gasped  Sartwell,  coughing, 
for  the  smoke  was  choking  him. 

"  Ah  think  so,  t'lr ;  but  Ah'll  have  a  look.  Some 
maybe  on  the  floor," — and  Braunt,  as  he  spoke,  hurled 
Scimmins  into  the  room  ahead  of  him,  pushing  the 
door  shut,  so  that  Sartwell  would  not  hear  the  man  if 
he  cried  out.  The  manager,  strangling  in  the  smoke, 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  Scimmins  was  there. 

"  Down  on  your  hands  and  knees,  ye  hound,  and 
see  if  any  o'  the  women  ye  felled  are  there ! " 

Scimmins  was  already  on  his  knees. 

"There's  no  one  here.  Open  the  door! — open  the 
^oor' "  he  cried. 

Braunt  opened  the  door  an  inch  or  two. 


252 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'^*?! 


!M^ 


"All  out,  sir!"  he  shouted. 

''  Thank  God  for  that !  "  said  Sartwell.  "  Come 
down  at  once.     There's  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

"  I'll  be  down  as  soon  as  you  are,  sir.     Run !  " 

The  manager  stumbled  down  the  crackling  stair, 
not  doubting  but  Braunt  followed. 

"  Now,  ye  crawling  serpent,  I'm  going  to  keep  ye 
here  till  ye're  singed.    I  saw  your  villainy,  ye  coward  !  " 

The  terror-stricken  man  mistook  the  purport  of 
Braunt's  words,  and  thus  lost  all  chance  of  life. 

"  I  swear  to  God,  I  didn't  mean  it !  "  he  cried.  "  The 
match  dropped  before  I  knowed  it.  God's  truth,  it 
did,  Braunt !  " 

"What!  Ye  fired  th'  works!  Ye!  With  the 
women  here  ye  tried  to  starve !  Ye  dropped  the 
match  !     Ye  crawling,  murderous  fiend  !  " 

Braunt  crouched  like  a  wild  beast  about  to  spring, 
his  crooked  fingers,  like  claws,  twitching  nervously. 
Breathing  in  short  quick  gasps,  for  the  smoke  had 
him  by  the  throat,  his  fierce  eyes  glittering  in  the 
flames  with  the  fearsome  light  of  insanity,  he  pounced 
upon  his  writhing  victim  and  held  his  struggling 
figure  with  arms  upstretched  above  his  head.  Tread- 
ing over  the  quaking  floor,  he  shouted : 

*'  Down,  ye  craven  devil,  into  the  hell  ye  have 
made ! " 

The  long,  quivering  shriek  of  the  doomed  man  was 
swallowed  and  quenched  in  the  torrent  of  fire. 

Braunt  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  trembling,  sagging 
floor,  with  his  empty  hands  still  above  his  head,  his 
face  upturned,  and  swaying  dimly  in  the  stifling 
smoke.  A  fireman's  axe  crashed  in  a  window  ;  a  sp  :t 
of  water  burst  through  the  opening,  and  hissed  against 
the  ceiling. 

"  Jessie !  Jessie  !  Listen !  the  Dead  March  !  My 
girl !     The — real — march  !  " 

With  a  rending  crash  the  floor  sank  into  the  furnace. 


' 


^ome 


stair, 

ep  ye 
ard !  •' 
)rt  of 

"The 
ath,  it 

h  the 
:d   the 

spring, 
^ously. 
ce  had 
in  the 
)unced 

read- 

i   have 

an  was 

agging 
ad,  his 
stifling 
1  sp  :  t 
against 

/    My 

urnace. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Barney  Hope  drove  his  tandem  up  and  down  the 
parade,  to  the  glory  of  Eastbourne,  but  with  small 
satisfaction  to  himself.  He  did  not  care  for  the  ad- 
miration of  those  who  were  strangers  to  him. 
Although  his  state  was  princely,  and  had  all  the 
exclusiveness  which  attends  princeliness,  it  was  a 
condition  of  things  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of  so  com- 
panionable a  man  as  Barney.  His  magnificent  plan, 
which  gave  employment  to  an  amateur  gardener,  had 
apparently  miscarried  ;  for  no  word  came  from  the 
girl  at  the  school,  and,  whatever  attractions  the  tandem 
had  for  other  inhabitants  of  Eastbourne,  it  certainly 
seemed  that  Edna  Sartwell  did  not  share  them,  at 
least  sufficiently  to  arrange  for  a  drive  with  the 
young  man  and  any  of  her  companions  who  dared  to 
break  the  rules  of  the  school  for  the  giddy  whirl  of 
his  lofty  vehicle.  Barney  cursed  his  luck  and  also 
his  messenger.  He  was  sure  it  was  Marsten's  fault ; 
some  clumsiness  «^n  his  part  had  undoubtedly  spoiled 
everything.  Now  that  Barney  thought  over  Marsten's 
demeanour  when  he  returned,  he  saw — what  he  should 
have  seen  at  the  time,  from  the  gruffness  and  short- 
ness of  the  fellow's  answers — that  he  had  made  a  mess 
of  it  somehow  and  was  ashamed  to  confess  his  fail- 
ure. Marsten  had  merely  contented  himself  by 
saying  to  Barney  that  he  had  delivered  the  letter  un- 
seen, and  that  the  girl  had  given  him  no  message  to 
take  back.  Barney  could  get  no  satisfying  particu- 
lars from  him  regarding  the  incidents  of  the  meeting. 
Had  he  talked  with  her?  Of  course  he  had.  It  was 
necessary  to  explain  how  he  came  to  be  there.     Wluit 


n 


KSi 


254 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


,*»K 


ij&l} 


■ '^■■■lr      '^i 


it» 


M, 


.'!» 


j^! 


had  she  said  ?  She  said  very  little.  Had  she  seemed 
angry  ?  She  did  not  seem  any  too  well  pleased.  And 
thus  Barney,  with  industry  and  persistence,  en- 
deavoured to  draw  the  truth  out  of  a  reluctant  man, 
who  appeared  only  too  eager  to  get  away  and  com- 
mune with  himself,  and  who  evidently  did  not  appre- 
ciate the  fact  that  it  was  the  duty  of  a  messenger  to 
communicate  full  particulars  of  his  embassy  to  his 
chief. 

Now  that  Marsten  had  so  hurriedly  gone  to  Lon- 
don,— probably  loath  to  admit  his  diplomatic  failure, 
yet  fearing  to  be  sent  on  another  mission  of  the  sort, — 
Barney  was  convinced  there  had  been  some  awkward 
hitch  in  the  proceedings,  which  was  all  the  more 
annoying  as  he  could  not  discover  what  it  was,  and  so 
he  set  about  to  remedy  it  with  that  unfailing  tact  of 
which  he  knew  himself  to  be  possessed.  For  once  in 
his  life  Barney  had  to  confess  that  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  He  did  not  care  to  return  to  London 
and  admit  defeat  even  to  himself.  One  of  his  favour- 
ite boasts  was  that  he  never  knew  defeat;  for  where — 
to  use  his  own  language — he  could  not  pull  it  off  him- 
self. Providence  seemed  always  to  step  in  and  give 
him  the  necessary  aid.  He  began  to  fear  that  his 
customary  accuracy  in  detecting  the  interposition  had 
for  once  failed  him,  for  he  remembered  he  had  looked 
on  the  unexpected  advent  of  Marsten  as  a  distinct 
manifestation  that  fortune  still  favoured  him  ;  but,  as 
da}''  after  day  passed  and  no  answer  came  to  the  letter 
he  had  sent,  Barney  began  to  have  doubts  as  to  the 
g'inuineness  of  the  intervention  on  this  occasion.  At 
last,  in  deep  gloom,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
life  under  the  present  circumstances  was  not  w^orth 
living  if  it  had  to  be  lived  in  Eastbourne  without 
knowing  a  soul,  and  reluctantly  he  determined  to 
return  to  London.  He  ordered  out  his  tandem  for  a 
final  exhibition,  remembering  that,  even  though  he 
took  no  pleasure  in  it  himself,  it  would  be  cruel  to 
deprive  the  loungers  along  the  parade  of  their  usual 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


255 


:mcd 
And 
,  en- 
man, 
com- 
ppre- 
jer  to 
0  his 


LoA- 
lilure, 
ort, — 
kward 
more 
and  so 
tact  of 
>nce  in 
:  know 
<ondon 
favour- 
[hcre — 
him- 
give 
at  his 
Ion  had 
ooked 
stinct 
but,  as 
letter 
o  the 
1.     At 
that 
worth 
ithout 
led    to 
for  a 
gh  he 
uel  to 
r  usual 


n 


1 


delight  in  watching  the  elegance  of  the  turnout  and 
his  own  skill  in  handling  a  team  placed  endwise. 
After  all,  the  innocent  frequenters  of  Eastbourne 
were  not  to  blame  for  what  had  happened,  so  why- 
should  they  be  punished  unnecessarily  ? — said  the  ever- 
just  Barney  to  himself.  They  should  be  allowed  to 
feast  their  eyes  for  the  last  time  on  the  tandem  and 
its  master,  and  Heaven  help  them  when  he  finally 
departed  !  Barney  mounted  his  chariot  with  a  sigh  ; 
for,  aside  from  the  fact  that  this  was  in  a  measure  a 
last  act, — and  last  acts  always  carry  a  certain  amount 
of  pathos  with  them, — it  is  depressing  to  have  it 
proven  that  one  is  after  all  under  no  special  protec- 
tion, and  to  have  doubt  cast  on  former  instances 
which  heretofore  have  stood  unchallenged. 

Barney  drove  his  spirited  horses  with  perhaps  less 
than  his  customary  dash,  a  chastened  dignity  taking 
the  place  of  the  exuberant  confidence  which  generally 
distinguished  him.  The  bracing  air,  the  rapid  motion, 
the  feeling  of  controlling  destiny  that  a  man  has 
when  he  is  driving  a  tandem,  all  failed  to  raise  his 
spirits,  as  might  have  been  expected  ;  for  the  very 
fact  that  he  was  driving  alone  emphasized  his  disap- 
pointment, and  made  this  world  the  hollow  mockery 
it  sometimes  seems  to  the  most  cheerful  of  us.  Yet 
how  often  has  it  been  said,  in  varying  forms,  that  the 
darkest  hour  is  just  before  the  dawn ! — and  how  often 
will  men  forget  that  simple  nocturnal  fact ! — a  defect 
of  memory  the  more  remarkable  in  a  person  like 
Barney,  who  so  frequently  had  had  opportunity,  while 
on  his  way  home  from  a  post-midnight  revel,  of  veri- 
fying the  phenomenon.  Just  when  his  despair  was 
at  its  blackest — on  the  fourth  drive  down  the  parade 
— he  was  amazed  and  delighted  to  see  Edna  Sartwell 
coming  down  one  of  the  side  streets  all  alone.  She 
had  a  newspaper  in  her  hand,  and  was  looking  anx- 
iously, and,  as  Barney  could  not  fail  to  see,  furtively, 
up  and  down  the  street,  apparently  expecting  to  meet 
some   one,  yet  fearing  that   her   intention   might  be 


T 


:|   t 


256 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


n 


■^^Ini 


divined.  Barney  understood  the  whole  situation  in  a 
flash :  she  had  been  afraid  to  write  or  had  been  pre- 
vented from  writing,  and  had  stolen  alone  from  the 
school  in  the  hope  of  meeting  him.  Well,  they  all 
did  it,  so  far  as  Barney  was  concerned ;  and,  in  the 
glow  of  exultation  that  came  over  him  at  this  proof 
of  success,  and  the  assurance  that,  after  all,  his  luck — 
or  whatever  it  was — had  not  deserted  him,  there  was 
just  a  faint,  annoying  tinge  of  regret  that  she  was  no 
more  proof  against  his  fascinations  than  all  the  others 
had  been.  Man  is  but  an  uncertain  creature  at  best, 
and  never  knows  just  what  he  does  want.  A  moment 
before,  it  would  have  seemed  to  him  that  nothing  on 
earth  could  have  given  him  greater  pleasure  than  a 
sight  of  her ;  and  yet,  now  that  he  saw  her  looking  for 
him,  he  was  actually  sorry  she  had  not  been  walking 
unconcernedly  along  the  pavement  like  those  who 
were  strangers  to  him. 

However,  it  must  be  added  in  Barney's  favour  that 
this  feeling  of  being  perhaps  a  trifle  too  much  sought 
after  was  but  transitory,  and  that  it  did  not  for  a  mo- 
ment interfere  with  his  action.  He  pulled  up  his  team 
with  a  suddenness  that  caused  the  front  horse  to  turn 
round  and  face  its  driver,  threw  the  reins  to  his  groom, 
and  jumped  down  with  a  grace  and  celerity  as  charm- 
ing in  its  way  as  was  his  driving.  The  groom  disen- 
tangled the  horses  as  Barney  accosted  Edna  with  that 
urbanity  which  was  perhaps  his  distinguishing  charac- 
teristic. The  girl  seemed  surprised  to  see  him,  and 
was  plainly  more  than  a  little  embarrassed. 

**  I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you  !  "  cried  Barney.  "  Why, 
the  very  sight  of  you  makes  this  dull  old  Eastbourne 
smile  like  a  rose,  don't  you  know.  I  haven't  had  a 
soul  to  speak  to  for  ages,  and  I  began  to  fear  I  should 
lose  the  use  of  language.  I  give  you  my  word,  it's  the 
truth !  I  do  think — that  is,  I  did,  until  I  saw  you — 
that  Eastbourne  is  the  dullest  spot  on  earth." 

•*  Then  why  did  you  come  here?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  now,  I  say.  Miss  Sartwell,  that's  rather  too 


i 


-, 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


257 


L  in  a 
i  pre- 
\  the 
y  all 
1  the 
proof 
jck — 
e  was 
as  no 
)thers 
;  best, 
)ment 
ng  on 
han  a 
ng  for 
alking 
I   who 

r  that 
nought 
a  mo- 
team 
turn 
room, 
harm- 
disen- 
that 
harac- 
n,  and 

Why, 
)ourne 
had  a 
should 
t's  the 

-'OU — 

i;irL 
jr  too 


bad!  It  is,  I  assure  you.  You  know  I  said  in  my 
letter  I  came  solely  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

"  So  you  did.     I  had  forgotten." 

"Yes;  and  you  never  even  answered  my  note,  Miss 
Sartwell.     I  call  that  rather  hard,  don't  you  know." 

"You  see,  Mr  Hope,  we  are  not  allowed  to  write 
letters  from  the  school ;  that  is  one  of  the  strictest 
rules." 

"  And  are  you  so  afraid  of  breaking  a  rule  as  all  that  ? 
When  I  was  at  school  the  delight  of  being  there  was 
the  breaking  of  all  rules — and  of  most  other  things  as 
well.  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  not  mind  break- 
ing a  rule  for  once,  even  if  only  out  of  pity  for  a  friend 
stranded  on  this  inhospitable  coast." 

Edna  blushed  when  he  spoke  of  the  breaking  of 
rules ;  then  she  lifted  her  honest  eyes  to  his  and  said : 

"  I  am  afraid  I  pay  too  little  attention  to  the  rules 
after  all  my  pretence  of  regard  for  them.  I  am  break- 
ing a  rule  in  being  here  now  ;  but  I  was  so  a.ixious  to 
see  a  newspaper  that  I  stole  out  to  buy  one.  That  is 
why  I  am  here,  and  I  should  not  stand  talking  to  you, 
but  must  go  back  at  once." 

"But  I  say.  Miss  Sartwell,"  protested  Barney,  "if 
you  break  a  rule  merely  to  buy  a  paper,  surely  you 
will  break  another,  or  keep  on  fracturing  the  same  one, 
when  you  know  how  much  pleasure  it  will  give  me  to 
take  you  for  a  little  drive." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Hope — I 
couldn't,  indeed,  and  you  must  not  ask  me  !  I  wanted 
the  paper  to  see  if  there  was  anything  more  about  the 
fire.  I  should  never  have  known  about  it  had  my 
father  not  sent  me  a  short  telegram  that  gave  no  par- 
ticulars.    I  suppose  he  did  not  have  time  to  write." 

"  What  fire  ?  " 

"The fire  at  the  works." 

"  Bless  me  !     Has  there  been  a  fire  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  know?  There  has  been  a  terrible  fire; 
the  east  wing  is  destroyed,  and  two  men  have  lost 
their  lives — two  of  the  workmen.     There  would  have 


r^m 


f*"^ 


258 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'HJ 


•b. 


•••K 


|i!|i! 


been  a  frightful  loss  of  life  had  it  not  been  for  one  of 
the  men  who  is  dead.  It  is  supposed,  so  the  papers 
say,  that  in  trying  to  save  the  life  of  the  other  he  lost 
his  own." 

**  Dear  me  !  how  perfectly  awful !  I  wonder  why 
Mr.  Sartwell  didn't  wire  me,  as  neither  father  nor 
Monkton  is  there.  You  see  I  never  read  the  papers 
myself — never  have  any  interest  in  them.  If  a  fellow 
could  only  know  when  there  is  to  be  something  in 
them  worth  while,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad ;  but  one 
can  t  go  on  buying  them  every  day,  in  the  hope  there 
will  some  time  be  something  in  them,  don't  you  know. 
Besides,  people  generally  tell  me  all  the  news,  so  I  don't 
need  to  read.  I  hear  even  more  than  I  want  to  hear, 
without  looking  at  the  papers ;  but,  you  see,  I  know 
nobody  down  here,  and  so  am  slightly  behind  in  the 
news  of  the  day." 

"  I  must  go  now,"  repeated  Edna,  who  had  listened 
to  his  remarks  with  ill-disguised  uneasiness. 

"Oh,  but  that's  just  what  you  mustn't  do!"  cried 
Barney,  with  great  eagerness.  **  Have  pity,  if  not  on 
my  loneliness,  at  least  on  my  hopeless  ignorance,  don't 
you  know,  in  a  matter  that  I,  of  all  others,  ought  to 
be  interested — vitally  interested — in.  You  see  there 
may  be  no  insurance,  and  perhaps  I'm  a  beggar — may 
have  to  sell  my  tandem,  don't  you  know ;  sacrifice  my 
pictures,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  must  hear  about 
the  fire,  and  all  about  it.  It's  of  more  importance 
even  than  the  condition  of  the  workingman,  to  me  at 
least,  dear  as  that  subject  is  and — all — interwoven — as 
I  may  say,  with  my  very — ah — being, — the  working- 
man,  don't  you  know." 

"  But,"  protested  his  anxious  listener,  "  I  know 
nothing  about  the  insurance, —  nothing  whatever. 
You  should  go  at  once  to  London,  by  the  very  first 
train.  There  has  been  an  inquest,  and  I  expect  to 
find  a  report  of  it  in  this  paper.  You  can  buy  a  paper 
at  the  station,  and  then  you  will  learn  everything  that 
is  to  be  known  until  you  reach  London." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


259 


le  of 

ipers 

lost 


why 
nor 
apers 
ellow 
tig  in 
;    one 
there 
hcnow. 
don't 
hear, 
know 
in  the 

stened 

'  cried 
not  on 
don't 
ght  to 
there 
— may 
ce  my 
about 
)rtance 
me  at 
en — as 
orking- 

know 
atever. 
ry  first 
)ect  to 
L  paper 
11  g  that 


'*  I  say,  Miss  Sartvvcll,"  said  Barney,  in  an  injured 
tone,  "you  surely  can't  expect  me  to  understand 
what's  in  the  paper  !  I  never  could,  don't  you  know. 
They  seem  to  me  to  print  such  rubbish.  Now  you 
can  explain  it  all  to  me  in  a  very  short  time — you  al- 
ways make  everything  so  clear.  If  you  will  just  step 
into  this  cart  of  mine,  I'll  drive  out  of  town  and 
around  behind  the  school ;  then  no  one  will  see  us, 
and  you  can  reach  there  much  more  quickly  than  if 
you  walked,  don't  you  know." 

The  girl  frowned,  and  Barney  saw  with  surprise  that 
she  perhaps  had,  after  all,  some  of  her  father's  impa- 
tience. He  felt  he  was  not  progressing  quite  as 
favourably  as  he  could  wish  ;  but  a  few  words  would 
put  that  right,  if  he  could  get  her  to  go  with  him  for 
a  drive. 

"  Mr.  Hope,"  she  said,  severely,  "  you  will  pardon 
me  if  I  say  that,  under  the  circumstances,  you  should 
be  busy  in  London  rather  than  idling  at  Eastbourne. 
An  unexpected  calamity  has  happened  ;  the  business  is 
deranged,  and  men  are  out  of  work  just  now  when 
they  need  it  most ;  yet  here  you  stand  idly  talking  of 
tandems  and  driving!  " 

Barney  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  astonishment. 
Here  actually  was  censure,  plain  and  undisguised.  He 
had  never  encountered  it  before  from  any  lady,  except 
perhaps  from  his  mother — and  she  did  not  count;  for, 
as  he  knew,  she  would  be  the  first  to  resent  blame 
placed  upon  him  by  any  one  else. 

"But — but  what  can  /do?"  stammered  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the  per- 
sonal pronoun. 

"  I,  of  course,  don't  know  ;  but  that  is  what  I  should 
find  out,  if  I  were  in  your  place." 

"  Nobody  pays  the  least  attention  to  what  I  say : 
they  never  did,  and  it's  not  likely  they're  going  to  be- 
gin now.  Your  father  didn't  even  take  the  trouble  to 
telegraph,  although  he  knows  I'm  here." 

"  He  knows  you  are  here?  " 


26o 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"♦1; 


te 


\^ 


i 


''■If'"' 


■^•S' 

J'^- 


"  Of  course.  He  was  coming  with  me,  and  both  of 
us  were  going  to  call  upon  you  ;  but,  unluckily  for  me, 
he  couldn't  come,  and  here  I  am  stranded  ;  and  I 
must  say,  when  you  talk  like  that,  I  think  fate  is  a  lit- 
tle hard  on  me." 

As  the  girl  looked  at  him,  her  expression  so^^'ened ; 
she  felt  she  had  been  unfair  to  him,  and  she  had  a 
keen  sense  of  justice. 

'*  I  had  no  intention  of  saying  anything  harsh,"  she 
replied.  "  I  merely  told  you  what  I  thought  any  one 
in  your  position  would  do.  Don't  you  agree  with 
me?" 

"  I  always  agree  with  you.  Miss  Sartwell.  I'm 
rather  a  blockhead,  at  best,  don't  you  know  ;  but  I 
usually  recognize  the  right  thing  when  some  one 
points  it  out  to  me.  That's  one  great  fault  I  find  with 
myself:  I  don't  see  things  till  after  every  one  else  has 
seen  them ;  then  they  all  seem  so  plain  that  I  wonder  I 
didn't  notice  them  before.  People  are  so  impatient 
with  a  fellow  like  me,  that  sometimes  I  feel  sorry  for 
myself, — I  give  you  my  word  I  do !  If  they  would 
take  a  little  pains, — but  then,  of  course,  no  one  ever 
cares  whether  a  fellow  goes  right  or  wrong." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  do  !  "  cried  the  girl,  quickly.  "  I'm 
sure  I  care  very  much." 

"  You  think  you  do,"  replied  Barney,  dejectedly ; 
"  but  you  won't  even  risk  a  slight  scolding  at  the 
school  to  give  me  the  advice  I  need  at  the  time  I 
need  it  most.  But  that's  the  way  of  the  world,"  con- 
tinued the  ill-used  young  man,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"  All  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  take  a  short  drive  with 
me,  and  tell  me  what  you  krow  of  the  disaster,  and 
what  you  think  I  ought  to  do  under  the  circum- 
stances. I  brought  this  turnout  from  London  on 
purpose  to  take  you  out.  It  isn't  as  if  I  were  sug- 
gesting anything  clandestine,  for  I  came  with  your 
father's  approval.  I  wrote  to  the  mistress  of  the 
school,  telling  her  so,  but  she  answered  with  a  sharp 
reprimand.     Then    I  wrote   directly  to  you,  but  my 


'•  I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


261 


Dth  of 
3r  me, 
and  I 
s  a  lit- 

♦■ened ; 
had  a 

h,"  she 
ny  one 
;e 


with 


I'm 

;  but  I 
-ne  one 
nd  with 
else  has 
render  I 
npatient 

orry  for 
would 

ne  ever 


<( 


I'm 


|cctedly ; 
at  the 
time  I 
lid,"  con- 
jep   sigh, 
•ive  with 
iter,  and 
circum- 
idon   on 
ere  sug- 
lith  your 
of   the 
a  sharp 
but  my 


letter  was  returned  with  an  intimation  that  I  was  try- 
ing to  do  something  underhanded.  So  you  see,  I 
made  every  effort  to  be  square  and  honest,  but  the 
honest  'people  wouldn't  have  [it.  That's  the  sort  of 
conduct  that  drives  men  to  crime.  Then  I  took  to 
more  questionable  method..,  and  got  that  young  fel- 
low— I  forget  his  name — to  carry  a  letter  to  you. 
That  offended  you " 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  It's  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  Barney  went  on, 
mournfully  ;  "  but  I  am  so  used  to  disappointment 
that  a  little  extra,  more  or  less,  doesn't  matter.  I  see 
now  I  was  wrong  to  send  that  letter  in  the  way  I  did 
— I  always  see  those  things  after ;  but  I  was  forced 
into  it.  I  expect  to  end  up  in  prison  some  day,  and 
never  realize  my  crime  until  the  judge  sentences  me. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  above  the  need  of  an  encourag- 
ing word  now  and  then,  but  I  don't  seem  to  be." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  a 
shade  of  perplexity  coming  over  her  face. 

"All  I  wish  is  a  little  straightforward  clear-headed 
advice.  Art  beckons  me  in  one  direction,  and  advises 
me  to  leave  business  alone.  You  said  just  now  that 
my  place  was  at  the  works,  and  that  I  shouldn't  be 
idling  here  when  there  was  so  much  to  be  done.  Mr. 
Sartwell  quite  evidently  hopes  I  shall  kee;^  out  of 
the  way,  or  he  would  have  told  me  of  the  fire.  I  seem 
to  be  a  superfluous  person,  not  wanted  anywhere — 
not  even  by  the  police.  What  do  I  wish  you  to  do  ? 
I  wish  you  to  let  me  take  you  for  a  little  drive  into 
the  country,  and  tell  me  how  I  can  help  your  father 
at  this  crisis." 

"  One  is  so  conspicuous  up  there,"  she  said,  glancing 
with  distrust  at  the  waiting  tandem.  "  No ;  let  us 
walk  to  the  end  of  the  parade.  There  we  can  sit 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  fire, 
and,  if  my  advice  is  worth  anything,  you  shall  have  ':*■ 
After  that  you  must  let  me  walk  to  the  school  alone. 

Barney  was  forced  to  content  himself  with  this,  and 


m 


■V 


^"■■y"  "vw'»W3wrwnw»f  "•-Tf.^rw?"'* 


•»\. 


262 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


he  reluctantly  ordered  the  groom  to  take  the  horses 
to  the  stables. 

The  two  walked  along  the  parade  to  the  most  shel- 
tered seat,  where  they  sat  down  together.  The  young 
man's  mind  was  in  a  whirl ;  the  coldness  of  his  recep- 
tion excited  him,  and  made  him  fearful  of  losing  what 
he  had  thought,  up  to  that  time,  was  his  for  the  asking. 

He  proposed  to  the  girl,  and  was  rejected. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


There  is  an  idea  prevalent  that  the  young  women 
of  our  land  welcome  addresses  which  the  golden  youth 
of  the  opposite  sex  urge  upon  their  consideration,  and 
that  a  girl's  happiness  augments  in  proportionate  ratio 
as  the  number  of  the  proposals  bestowed  upon  her  in- 
creases. This,  however,  is  merely  a  supposition,  and 
there  are  unfortunately  no  statistics  to  which  an  his- 
torian, anxious  to  be  accurate  in  statement,  may  turn 
in  order  to  substantiate  or  overthrow  this  almost 
universally  held  opinion.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that 
the  census,  which  gathers  together  in  tabulated  form 
so  many  interesting  facts  pertaining  to  the  race,  gives 
no  attention  to  this  particular  subdivision  of  human 
data ;  and  that,  so  far  from  being  able  to  form  any 
definite  estimate  of  the  feeling  with  which  a  girl  wel- 
comes the  undoubted  compliment  of  a  marriage  offer, 
we  are  left  in  the  dark  as  to  the  average  number  of 
proposals  a  woman  receives,  say,  between  the  ages  of 
seventeen  and  thirty-seven.  An  inquisitive  govern- 
ment which  does  not  hesitr^te  to  ask  a  woman  every 
ten  years  to  set  down  her  age  in  black  and  white 
seems,  strangely  enough,  to  shrink  from  inquiring  into 
a  vital  question  on  which  the  future  .v».ll-being  of  a 
nation  largely  depends ;  thus  no  one  can  positively 
state  that  matrimonial  advances  are  held  in  high 
estimation  by  their  recipients,  clinching  the  proposi- 
tion by  referring  the  doubter  to  Blue  Be  ok  such  a 
number  and  such  a  page. 

It  being  thus  impossible  to  generalize,  the  careful 
writer  is  compelled  to  fall  back  on  individual  instances, 


264 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


♦?«, 


i( 


1       ^' 


■■* 


and  it  must  be  set  down  that  Edna  Sartwell,  so  far 
from  being  happy  or  elated  over  the  fact  that  two 
young  men  within  one  week  had  asked  her  to  share 
their  varying  fortunes,  walked  hurriedly  back  to  the 
school,  filled  with  terror  and  dismay.  On  the  very 
threshold  of  womanhood  she  had  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly been  brought  face  to  face  with  a  state  of 
things  which  made  her  wish  to  shrink  back  into  the 
untroubled  tranquillity  of  the  life  she  had  hitherto  led. 
These  two  disquieting  events,  following  one  so  closely 
on  the  other,  loomed  up  in  undue  proportion  to  their 
importance,  and  threatened  to  overshadow  the  future. 
It  seemed  an  appalling  thing  that  the  fate  of  two  men 
should  be  placed  at  her  disposal ;  that  on  her  shoulders 
should  be  cast  the  great  responsibility  of  deciding,  un- 
aided, a  momentous  question  with  far-reaching  conse- 
quences. And  if  the  first  two  young  men  with  whom 
she  became  acquainted  acted  thus,  what  was  to  be 
expected  from  the  numerous  host  she  was  still  likely 
to  meet?  A  pathway  strewn  with  broken  hearts 
offered  no  allurements  to  the  feet  of  the  young 
traveller;  a  life  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  deep  sighs 
was  intolerable.  The  girl  was  frightened  at  the  out- 
look, which  was  all  the  more  bewildering  because  only 
partly  understood.  "  It  is  often  as  important  to 
classify  your  problem  as  to  solve  it,"  her  father  had 
once  said  to  her ;  but  solution  or  classification  appeared 
equally  difficult  to  her. 

Barney  had  taken  his  rejection  badly.  He  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal  the  fact  that  his  life  was  blighted  ; 
that  he  would  re-enter  the  world  a  changed  man,  but 
heroically  determined  to  make  the  most  out  of  the 
wreck.  The  austere,  rugged  road  that  now  lay  before 
him,  unbrightened  by  love  or  human  sympathy,  he 
would  walk  with  grim,  if  sombre,  resolution  ;  brushing 
aside  the  frivolities  of  existence  ;  setting  his  face  with 
sullen  but  dogged  persiste)ice  towards  the  cheerless 
journey  of  Mfe ;  hoping  tor  no  recompense  except 
that  perhaps  he  might  have  the  consolation  of  know- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


265 


50  far 

t  two 

share 
:o  the 
-  very 

unex- 
:ate  of 
ito  the 
rtoled. 
closely 
:o  their 

future, 
svo  men 
loulders 
ling,  un- 
rr  conse- 
h  whom 
IS  to  be 
ill  likely 
hearts 
young 
icp  sighs 

the  out- 
liusc  only 

rtant    to 

ther  had 

(appeared 

made  no 
(blighted ; 
'man,  but 
it  of  the 
|ay  before 
)athy,  he 
brushing 
face  with 
cheerless 
c    except 
of  know- 


ing that  he  left  the  world  a  trifle  better  for  having 
lived  in  it. 

Inexperienced  as  she  was,  Edna  could  not  help  con- 
trasting the  actions  of  Hope  and  Marsten,  not  alto- 
gether to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter.  There  was 
no  question  in  her  mind  that  Marsten  had  in  reality 
an  up-hill  road  to  travel ;  yet  he  had  gone  into  no  he- 
roics about  it,  and  he  asked  nothing  but  that  she  should 
remember  him.  She  had  been  sorry  she  could  give 
no  encouraging  word  to  Marsten;  but  Barney  made 
her  feel  somehow  that  she  was  to  blame  in  his  case, 
and  that  he  was  an  ill-used  man.  Then,  it  was  dififi- 
cult  to  realize  the  serious  nature  or  hardship  of  Bar- 
ney's future  career,  when  every  one  knew  he  had  more 
money  than  was  good  for  him.  Some  thought  of  this 
seemed  to  occur  to  Barney  himself  at  the  time,  for  he 
spoke  bitterly  and  contemptuously  of  his  wealth,  and 
of  how  it  handicapped  him ;  however,  he  was  going  to 
give  it  all  away  when  he  came  into  his  full  fortune,  and 
start  the  world  afresh,  winning  his  laurels  and  what 
little  cash  would  suf^ce  for  his  frugcil  needs,  with  his 
good  right  arm,  assisted  presumably  by  his  paint- 
brushes ;  so  in  the  face  of  this  noble  resolution  it  would 
have  been  unfair  to  censure  him  for  the  possession  of 
riches  he  had  had  no  hand  in  accumulating. 

Edna  hurried  towards  the  school,  thinking  little  of 
the  reprimand  in  store  for  her,  and  much  of  the  con- 
trary conditions  of  this  world.  She,  like  Barney, 
needed  advice,  yet  had  no  one  in  whom  she  might 
confide.  She  thought  of  writing  fully  to  her  father, 
remembering  her  promise  to  tell  him  everything  that 
troubled  her;  but  she  shrank  from  the  thought  almost 
as  soon  as  it  took  form  in  her  mind.  Besides,  both 
complications  were  settled  finally  and  forever,  so  why 
worry  him  unnecessarily  about  a  page  of  her  life  on 
which  was  written  the  word  "  Finis  "  ?  There  surged 
up  in  her  heart  a  deep,  passionate  yearning  for  the 
mother  she  had  never  known,  and  whom  she  now 
missed  as  she  had  never  missed  her  before.     As  she 


266 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'■'K 


;i 


y\ 


%^ 


Wfc. 


i,ii 


^i*^ 


■% 


1  1 


"•k 


'4!|J»^ 


thought  of  the  portrait  of  the  beautiful,  sweet-looking 
woman  in  her  father's  office,  whose  pathetic  eyes  shone 
so  tenderly  and  lovingly  upon  her,  the  tears  which  had 
been  near  the  surface  suddenly  blinded  her,  and  she 
sobbed : 

"  I  am  alone — alone  !  " 

On  reaching  the  school,  Edna  went  directly  to  her 
room,  where  she  found  a  letter  frcm  her  step-mother 
awaiting  her ;  and  this  helped  more  than  anything  else 
to  drive  away  the  sad  thoughts  which  filled  her  mind. 
The  letter  ran  thus: 

"My  Poor  Dear  Edna:" 

"  You  will  doubtless  have  heard  of  the  dreadful  calamity  that 
has  overtaken  the  business  of  Monkton  &  Hope,  a  calamity  from 
which  I  fear  ,t  may  never  recover  ;  although  your  father,  as  usual, 
scoffs  at  what  I  predict,  and  says  they  are  fully  insured — as  if  an 
insurance  policy  could  cover  the  far-reachint;  effects  of  such  a  dis- 
aster !  There  seems  little  doubt  that  the  tire  was  caused  by  some 
of  the  disaffected  men,  exasperated,  probably,  by  the  treatment  they 
have  received,  although  that  is  no  excuse  for  the  crime.  But  we 
are  all  short-seeing,  misguided  creatures  here  below,  with  the  taint 
of  original  sin  in  each  of  us ;  unable,  unless  directed  by  a  Higher 
Power,  to  take  even  the  slightest  action  that  will  be  acceptable  ;  and 
prone  ever  to  slip  and  stumble  if  we  neglect  those  warnings  which 
for  our  benefit  are  showered  on  the  just  and  the  unjust  alike  :  but 
if  warnings  are  passed  by — or,  worse  still,  scoflcd  at — how  can  we 
hope  to  profit  by  them  and  mend  our  ways,  as  an  ever-indulgent 
Providence — eager  to  forgive,  if  we  but  exhibit  a  desire  for  forgive- 
ness—intended  they  should  ?— and  when  I  asked  your  father  in  a 
most  gentle  and  respectful  (1  hope  1  know  my  duty  as  a  wife  by  this 
time  !J  way  if  the  fire  had  not  pointed  a  great  moral  to  him,  he  said 
with  most  regrettable  flippancy— which  1  have  sometimes  attempted 
to  correct  in  you,  my  poor  child  ! — that  it  pointed  the  moral  to  be 
well  insured  and  to  have  fire-escapes  from  the  upper  floors ;  as  if 
ribaldry  like  that  was  not  very  much  out  of  place  in  speaking  of  a 
solemn  event  where  two  immortal  souls  went  to  their  last  account 
without  a  moment's  warning — going,  for  aught  we  know,  through 
perishable  tire  to  (lames  that  are  never  quenched  !  The  usefulness 
of  this  thought  makes  no  impression  on  your  father,  who  is  as  stub- 
born as  ever,  and  I  fear  no  more  just  to  his  men  than  before  all 
this  happened.  A  poor  young  man  named  Marsten  has  been  ruth- 
lessly discharged  by  your  father,  and  may  now  be  wandering  about 
the  streets,  looking  for  work  and  starving,  for  all  any  one  knows  or 
cares.    Ask  your  father  why  he  was  discharged  if  you  want  to 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


267 


(oking 
shone 
:h  had 
id  she 


to  her 
nnother 
ng  else 
r  mind. 


mity  that 
nity  from 
,  as  usual, 
—as  if  an 
luch  a  dis- 
\  by  some 
tment  they 
;.     But  we 
h  the  taint 
y  a  Higher 
)table ;  and 
ings  which 
alike  :  but 
()\v  can  we 
-indulgent 
(ir  forgive- 
father  in  a 
A'ife  by  this 
im,  he  said 
attempted 
aoral  to  be 
[loors ;  as  if 
aking  of  a 
last  account 
w,  through 
usefulness 
is  as  stub- 
li  before  all 
.,  been  ruth- 
jering  about 
e  knows  or 
ou  want  to 


I 


know,  but  don  t  ask  me.  It  is  nothing  but  pride — pride — pride  ! 
My  child,  take  warning  while  there  is  yet  time,  for  the  night  cometh. 
Harden  not  your  heart. 

*'  I  shall  continue  to  petition  for  you  both,  for  the  mercy  is  unfail- 
ing and  unlimited. 

•'  Your  loving  but  sorrowing  mother, 

*' Sarah  Sartwell." 

The  benevolent  intentions  of  this  letter  were  in  no 
wise  frustrated,  and  Mr::,  Sartwell  would  doubtless 
have  been  pleased  had  she  known  that  the  reading  of 
it  did  the  recipient  a  world  of  good.  It  acted  as  a 
tonic,  and  gave  Edna  something  to  think  about,  pre- 
venting any  morbid  reflections  on  the  wreck  she  had 
made  of  Barney's  life. 

The  discharge  of  Marsten  was  a  great  shock  to  the 
girl,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  thought  her 
father  had  acted  unjustly.  At  first,  in  pondering  over 
the  unexpected  bit  of  information,  she  thought  her 
father  had,  in  some  way,  heard  of  the  young  man's 
visit  to  Eastbourne  ;  but  as  she  turned  the  subject 
over  in  her  mind  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his 
dismissal  was  the  result  of  their  meeting  in  the  garden 
at  home  and  the  finding  of  Marsten  there  by  her 
father.  The  reason,  then,  the  young  man  had  time  to 
come  to  Eastbourne,  was  because  his  time  was  now  his 
own.  And  yet  he  had  said  nothing  about  it,  even 
when  she  asked  him  how  he  got  away  from  duty.  He 
had  spoken  well  of  her  father,  although  he  must  have 
felt  he  had  been  unjustly  treated.  She  had  thought 
nothing  of  his  good  words  at  the  time,  but  now  they 
came  back  to  her.  She  determined  to  write  to  her 
father,  and  tell  him  all  about  Marsten's  visit  and  its 
result  ;  but  when  she  sat  down  with  the  paper  before 
her,  she  found  she  did  not  know  how  to  begin.  She 
wished  to  ask  him  to  repair  the  unnecessary  wrong  he 
had  done  Marsten,  for  there  was  not  the  slightest 
chance  of  her  ever  marrying  the  young  man  ;  but 
somehow,  when  she  came  to  put  this  all  down  on 
paper,  the  task  seemed  very  difficult.     The  difficulty 


'^'"1 


'  It  ^t.  *»*-?»!«*!■*•«.•  **  nvof^^mS^f^^m 


268 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


*■  f 


§^ 


" 


ii'i 


: 


was  increased  by  the  knowledge  that  her  father  must  at 
that  moment  have  as  much  on  his  mind  as  any  one 
should  be  called  upon  to  bear,  and  she  pictured  the 
silent  man  sitting  at  home,  tired  out  with  the  work 
and  worry  of  the  day,  while  the  monotonous  voice  of 
his  wife  drew  moral  lessons  from  every  new  obstacle 
he  had  to  surmount.  No  ;  she  would  not  add  a  single 
care  to  those  already  on  his  shoulders. 

The  girl  sat  with  her  elbows  on  the  desk,  her  chin 
in  her  hands,  gazing  with  troubled  eyes  into  vacancy, 
as  if  the  problems  that  beset  her  were  in  the  air  be- 
fore her  and  could  be  hypnotized  into  solution.  A 
bewilder;  ig  feature  of  the  case  was  that  she  had  con- 
tinually, of  late,  to  readjust  her  ideas,  and  bring  them 
into  correct  relationship  with  some  new  fact  which 
came  within  her  cognizance.  All  the  conversations 
she  had  held  with  her  father,  many  of  his  actions, 
bore  quite  a  new  significance  when  she  learned  that 
he  knew  Marsten  loved  her.  Again,  the  fact  of  Mars- 
ten's  dismissal  lent  a  sharp  poignancy  to  her  re- 
membrance of  his  fervent  declaration  that,  for  h^r 
sake,  he  would  strive  to  please  any  master  plac^'^ 
over  him,  as  no  man  had  ever  striven  before.  F  ^  u. 
did  not  share  her  step-mother's  fear  that  the  young 
man  was  starving;  but  her  imagination  kindled  at  the 
thought  of  his  impassioned  words,  his  resolute  deter- 
mination to  succeed,  addressed  to  the  daughter  of 
the  man  who  a  day  or  two  before  had  '  ned  him  into 
the  streets.  The  more  she  thought  ab  .ut  her  father's 
action,  the  more  unjust  it  seemed.  A  dozen  times 
she  began  a  letter,  and  as  often  relapsed  again  into 
reverie.  Barney  and  his  mythical  woes  faded  entirely 
from  her  memory.  Gradually  she  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  if  she  did  not  intervene  in  Marsten's 
interests,  she  would  be  making  herself  responsible  for 
the  continuance  of  the  injustice ;  and,  although  she 
wished  to  relieve  her  father  from  all  anxiety  regarding 
her  feelings  towards  the  young  man,  still  she  was 
ashamed  to  touch  upon  that  part  of  the  subject.     It 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


269 


nust  at 
ny  one 
ed  the 
e  work 
oice  of 
(bstacle 
a  single 

ler  chin 
vacancy, 
s  air  be- 
on.  A 
tiad  con- 
ng  them 
;t  which 
irsations 

actions, 

ned  that 

of  Mars- 

her    re- 
,  for  h-r 
plac^'^ 

e  young 
ed  at  the 
te  deter- 
ghter   of 
him  into 
r  father's 
en  times 
gain  into 
entirely 
the  con- 
iMarsten's 
nsible  for 
ough  she 
regarding 
she  was 
bject.     It 


might  be  possible  some  time,  when  she  sat  at  her 
father's  knee,  to  tell  him  about  it,  with  averted  face ; 
but  to  write  it,  she  could  not. 

At  last  she  succeeded  in  drafting  a  letter,  which  she 
hurriedly  posted,  fearing  that  longer  meditation  upon 
the  question  might  result  in  its  not  being  sent  at  all. 

"Dear  Father: 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  be  very  busy,  and  perhaps  very  much 
worried  at  the  present  moment.  You  know  I  do  not  wish  to  add 
to  your  burden,  and  would  rather  lighten  it  if  I  could  ;  but  in  that 
I  am  as  helpless  as  you  are  strong,  We  made  a  compact  a  while 
since,  and  that  is  why  I  write.  Something  has  happened  for 
which  I  feel  partly  responsible.  In  a  letter  received  to-day  from 
my  step-mother  she  says  you  have  discharged  Mr.  Marsten,  and 
she  thinks  he  may  now  be  looking  in  vain  for  employment.  I  am 
afraid  you  were  not  pleased  at  finding  him  talking  to  me  in  our 
garden,  but  that  was  my  fault  and  not  his.  If  that  was  the  reason, 
won't  you  please  reconsider  and  invite  him  back .'' 

"  Your  loving  daughter, 

"Edna." 

The  answer  came  almost  before  she  thought  her 
letter  had  time  to  reach  London. 

"  My  Dear  Little  Girl  : 

"  I  should  have  written  days  ago,  but  unfortunately  I  cannot 
dictate  an  affectionate  letter  through  my  shorthand  clerk,  and  the 
older  I  grow  the  more  I  dislike  writing  with  my  own  hand. 
Worried.?  Oh,  dear  no!  Why  should  one  worry.?  I'm  afraid 
your  belligerent  old  father  still  loves  a  fight,  whether  with  circum- 
stances or  with  men.  Before  the  fire  was  out,  telegraphic  orders 
were  despatched  to  three  machinery  firms  in  the  North.  While 
the  fire-engines  were  still  flinging  water  on  the  ruins,  I  had  se- 
cured a  lease  of  the  four  houses  that  adjoin  the  works,  had  com- 
pounded with  the  tenants,  and  sent  them  packing.  That  night 
men  were  at  work  knocking  doorways  through  the  partitions  and 
strengthening  the  floors.  Happily  the  en^^incb  and  boilers  were 
not  injured,  being  in  a  separate  building,  and  already  such  ma- 
chinery as  we  could  get  is  in  place,  and  a  long,  sagging,  wobbling 
iron  rope  carries  the  power  across  the  yard.  The  new  secretary 
of  the  Union  proposed  a  conference  with  me  to  discuss  what  the 
firm  was  willing  to  do  for  the  men  thrown  out  of  work  by  the  fire. 
I  refused  to  discuss  anything  with  the  new  secretary,  he  not  being 
an  emp/oyee  of  mine.    He  is  a  shrewder  man  than  Gibbons ;  so  he 


■  f^T" 


270 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


s 


i 


I 


•M. 


% 


at  once  got  up  a  deputalion  of  my  own  men  and  sent  them  to  mc. 
I  received  them,  of  course,  and  they  asked  me  if  I  would  give 
them  fifteen  per  cent  of  their  waives  while  out  of  work.  •  No,' 
said  I,  '  I  can  always  do  better  than  the  Union.  There  will  be 
paid  one  hundred  per  cent  of  the  wages,  not  fifteen ;  I  expect  you 
all  back  at  the  works  on  Monday.'  I  fancy  I  made  the  men  open 
their  eyes  a  bit.  Work  will  be  going  on  as  usual  within  a  week, 
and  we  won't  be  behind  with  a  single  order.  The  new  factory 
which  is  now  begun  will  be  built  in  accordance  with  modern  ideas, 
and  1  expect  to  be  able  to  increase  our  business  so  that  the  four 
houses  leased  will  be  retained  when  the  new  building  is  ready  for 
occupation.  Forgive  this  patting  of  myself  on  the  shoulder,  but  a 
man  must  brag  now  and  then  to  some  one,  and  you,  my  dear 
Edna,  are  the  only  one  to  whom  I  can  boast. 

"Yes,  the  compact  is  still  in  operation,  and  I'm  glad  you  wrote 
about  your  step-mother's  letter,  although  1  hope  you  will  not  take 
too  seriously  any  half-hysterical  conmicnts  on  my  tyrannical  con- 
duct. A  man  must  act,  and  one  who  acts  i^  bound  to  make  mis- 
takes. Perhaps  the  discharge  of  Marsten  was  a  mistake.  I  don't 
think  so,  but  of  course  your  step-mother  does,  and,  as  facts  always 
embarrass  her,  she  sees  instant  starvation  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
Everything,  ICdna,  depends  on  the  point  of  view.  A  lighted  match 
is  dropped  by  accident  or  design,  and,  falling  on  inllammable  mate- 
rial, certain  chemical  changes  take  place ;  carbonic  acid  gas  is 
produced,  and  a  factory  goes  down  in  ruins  to  supply  the  materials 
for  combustion.  All  this  seems  perfectly  natural  to  me,  and  in 
accordance  with  established  scientific  research.  But  your  step- 
mother's point  of  view  is  different.  She  sees  the  finger  of  Provi- 
dence, and  because  I  don't,  I'm  a  scoffer.  Now,  I've  as  great  a 
belief  and  trust  in  Providence  as  any  one,  but  to  me  Providence 
works  sanely.  It  doesn't  destroy  a  factory  and  kill  two  men 
merely  to  show  me  I'm  in  error,  because  it  could  accomplish  its  pur- 
pose at  much  less  expense  and  trouble.  I  can't  think  that  Provi- 
dence is  less  sensible  than  my  little  girl,  and  she  takes  the  right 
method.  She  says  in  kindly  fashion,  '  Father.  I  think  you  are 
wrong,  and  1  want  you  to  reconsider.'  She  doesn't  try  to  prove 
me  a  heartless  despot.  I  would  at  once  reconsider,  and  would 
invite  Marsten  back,  but  it  is  not  necessary.  He  is  the  new  sec- 
retary of  the  Union,  with  a  salary  larger  than  the  Wiiges  he  had 
here,  with  his  time  practically  his  own,  and  with  ample  opportunity 
for  mischief  if  he  chooses  to  exercise  his  power.  1  feel  it  in  my 
bones  that  in  one  or  two  or  three  years  I  shall  have  to  fight  him. 
It  will  be  an  interesting  struggle,  but  I  shall  win.  So  with  this 
final  bit  of  brag  I  close  my  long  letter.  I  hope  to  run  down  and 
see  you  on  Saturday,  avd  meanwhile  all  the  sympathy  you  have 
to  spare,  lavish  on  that  n'on-handed  tyrant, 

"Your  Father." 


\  to  me. 
lid  give 
'No,' 
;  will  be 
pect  you 
en  open 
a  week, 
'  factory 
rn  ideas, 
the  four 
ready  for 
ier,  but  a 
my  dear 

ou  wrote 
not  take 
licul  con- 
lake  mis- 
,     I  don't 
ts  always 
rest  of  it. 
Led  match 
ible  mate- 
pid  gas  is 
materials 
le,  and  in 
^our  step- 
of  Provi- 
^s  great  a 
rovidence 
two   men 
sh  its  pur- 
lat  Provi- 
the  right 
c   you  are 
to  prove 
and  would 
new  sec- 
es  he  had 
pportunity 
el  it  in  my 
fight  him. 
0  with  this 
down  and 
you  have 


THER. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Barnp:y  abandoned  his  tandem  to  the  tender  care  of 
his  man,  and  went  up  to  London  by  train.  He  sat 
gloomily  in  a  corner  of  a  first-class  smoking-compart- 
ment,  and  cursed  the  world.  Nevertheless  he  was 
able  to  consume  a  great  number  of  cigarettes  between 
the  sea  and  Charing  Crpss,  and,  as  he  smoked,  he 
made  stern,  heroic  resolutions  regarding  his  career. 
He  would  now  take  it  seriously  in  hand.  He  would 
business-manage  himself.  He  saw  in  the  clear  light 
of  a  great  disappointment  that  he  had  hitherto  paid 
too  much  attention  to  the  production  of  masterpieces, 
and  too  little  to  the  advertising  of  them.  It  was  evi- 
dently hopeless  to  expect  the  appreciation  of  a  stupid 
and  uncritical  public  to  come  to  his  work,  and  the 
great  critic  whom  he  haa  confidently  lopked  for  had 
not  yet  put  in  an  appearance.  If,  then,  the  critic 
would  not  come  to  Mahomet,  Mahomet  would  go  to 
the  critic.  He  would  purchase  the  most  expensive 
art-critic  there  was  in  the  market ;  then  the  tardy  pub- 
lic would  learn  that  a  genius  had  lived  among  them 
unrecognized. 

As  his  comprehensive  plans  took  final  shape  the 
train  ran  into  the  glass-roofed  tunnel  at  Charing  Cross. 
Barney  sprang  into  a  hansom,  and  drove  directly  to 
the  works.  '*  Beastly  hole  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
gazed  round  at  the  ruin  the  fire  had  wrought.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  cluttering  heaps  of  burnt 
and  twisted  iron,  and  piles  of  new  building  material 
were  scattered  everywhere.  The  apparent  confusion 
and  ugliness  of  it  all  offended  his  artistic  sense,  and  he 


272 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'■% 


"f  J 


ii  I 


thanked  his  stars  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  spend 
his  days  there.  He  accosted  Sartwell,  who  had  been 
discussing  some  question  with  the  architect,  and 
shook  the  manager's  hand  with  energy  and  cordiality. 

**  Mr.  Sartwell,"  he  cried,  ''  I  came  the  moment  I 
heard  of  the  fire." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  manager,  dryly.  "  Have  you  been 
in  America?  " 

**  No,"  laughed  Barney,  "  not  quite  so  far  away  as 
that;  but,  don't  you  know,  I  never  read  the  papers,  and 
so  heard  of  the  conflagration  purely  by  accident.  Now, 
I  am  here  entirely  at  your  disposal,  and  am  ready  to 
do  anything  and  everything  you  want  done.  I  would 
rather  not  carry  bricks,  if  there  is  anything  else  I  can 
do ;  but  I  am  ready  to  help  in  any  way  1  can.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  Mr.  Sartwell,  that,  in  placing  myself 
at  the  disposal  of  the  firm,  I  do  so  at  considerable  sacri- 
fice ;  for  art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting,  and  I  have 
work  to  do  in  my  studio  that  you,  perhaps,  might  not 
think  worth  doing;  but  I  hope  posterity  will  not 
agree  with  you,  don't  you  know.  Still,  I  am  here. 
Command  me." 

"  Indeed,  you  do  me  wrong,"  said  Sartwell,  with  a 
grim  smile.  "  I  consider  you  of  much  greater  value 
in  the  studio  than  here.  I  have  no  doubt  posterity 
and  I  will  quite  agree  in  our  estimate  of  your  labour. 
Artists  are  few  and  labourers  many.  It  would  be  a 
real  disaster  if  our  present  crisis  were  to  interfere  with 
your  artistic  work.  Therefore,  although  I  am  flattered 
by  your  generous  offer  of  help,  I  could  not  think  of 
availing  myself  of  it.  No  ;  the  studio  is  your  place, 
Mr.  Hope." 

"  It's  uncommonly  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Sartwell,  to  say 
so  many  nice  things  about  my  efforts,  and  I  assure  you 
I  appreciate  them,  for  I  don't  have  too  many  encourage- 
ments— I  don't,  I  assure  you.  This  is  such  a  beastly 
materia' istic  world,  don*t  you  know.  Has  my  father 
got  home  yet?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  returned  last  night." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


273 


jpend 
been 
,  and 
iality. 
icnt  I 

A  been 

vray  as 
rs,  and 

Now, 
ady  to 

would 
e  I  can 
I  don't 
myself 
Ic  sacri- 
,  I  have 
gilt  not 
vill    not 
n  here. 

with  a 
value 
osterity 
labour. 
Id  be  a 
re  with 
attered 
hink  of 
ir  place, 

1,  to  say 
ure  you 
:ourage- 
beastly 
father 


"Ah,  I  didn't   know  that.     Terribly  upset,  I  sup- 


pose 


P" 


'•  A  trifle  worried." 

"  Naturally  he  would  be.  Well,  there's  nothing  I 
can  do  for  you  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  unless  you  undertake  the  decoration  of 
the  new  factory,  and  thus  send  it  down  to  posterity 
with  the  Vatican  frescoes.  Still,  that  question  won't 
arise  for  a  month  or  two  yet." 

"  Quite  so.  I'll  think  about  it.  Well,  if  you  need 
me,  you  know  my  address.  A  wire  will  bring  me  at 
any  time." 

"  It's  generous  of  you  to  stand  ready  to  leap  into 
the  chasm  in  this  way,  but  take  my  advice  and  stick 
to  the  studio.  Nevertheless,  I'll  remember,  and  let 
you  know  if  a  crisis  arises  with  which  I  am  unable  to 
deal  single-handed." 

''  Do,"  cried  Barney,  again  shaking  hands  with  good- 
natured  effusion.     "  Well,  good-by  !  " 

He  picked  his  way  to  the  gates,  and  stepped  into 
his  waiting  hansom,  a  well-merited  feelmg  of  having 
answered  the  stern  call  of  duty  cheering  his  heart  as 
he  drove  away 

It  was  a  long  drive  to  Haldiman's  studio,  and 
Barney,  telling  the  cabman  he  might  have  to  wait  an 
hour  or  two,  dashed  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 
Being  admitted,  he  asked  if  Haldiman  was  at  home  ; 
then  sprang  up  the  stairs,  struck  one  startling  loiock 
on  the  studio  door  with  the  head  of  his  stick,  and  en- 
tered. 

Haldiman  stood  at  his  easel,  a  black  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  an  old  jacket  on  his  back,  and  a  general  air 
about  him  of  not  having  brushed  his  hair  for  a  week. 
A  half-finished  drawing  in  black  and  white  decorated  a 
great  sheet  of  cardboard  placed  on  the  easel. 

**  Hello,  Barney  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  thought  that  was 
your  delicate  way  of  announcing  yourself.  You  look 
as  trim  and  well-groomed  as  a  shop-walker.  Haven't 
given  up  painting  and  taken  to  thai:  line,  have  you  ?  " 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


UilM    |2.5 

■  JO     "^^        WMM 

i.*^  Ill 

U    IIIIII.6 


V] 


'/ 


/A 


!r 


274 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  No,  old  man,  I  haven't ! "  shouted  Barney,  slam- 
ming the  door  behind  him  and  coming  into  the  room 
like  a  cyclone.  "  And  I'm  not  trim,  for  I  have  just 
had  a  railway  journey,  and  went  from  Charing  Cross 
to  the  works,  and  from  the  works  here.  I've  had  no 
time  to  go  to  the  club  and  make  myself  pretty ;  I  was 
in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  see  you.  So  don't  be  sar- 
castic, Haldiman." 

"  Everything  is  comparative,  Barney,  and  to  me  you 
look  like  a  radiant  being  from  another  and  a  better 
world,  where  a  man  has  unlimited  credit  with  his 
tailor.     Sit  down,  won't  you  ?'* 

"  That's  what  I  came  for.  I  say,  Haldiman,  where 
do  you  keep  your  exhilarating  fluid  and  the  syphons? 
I'm  tired  out.  Be  hospitable.  You  see  I've  a  load 
on  my  mind  these  days.  The  works  were  partly  de- 
stroyed by  fir2,  and  we're  rebuilding  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  don't  you  know,  which  rather  takes  it  out  of 
a  fellow,  looking  after  workmen  and  seeing  that  no 
mistakes  are  made." 

"  Oh,  I  saw  about  that  in  the  papers,  and  was  won- 
dering if  it  was  your  shop,"  said  Haldiman,  placing  a 
small  table  beside  his  friend,  and  putting  a  bottle,  a 
syphon,  and  a  glass  upon  it.  *'  Help  yourself,  my 
boy.     You  don't  mind  my  going  on  with  my  work  ?  " 

"But  I  do!"  cried  Barney.  "Sit  down  yourself, 
Haldiman.      I  want  to  talk  to  you  seriously." 

"  I  am  behindhand  with  this  picture  now,  Barney. 
I  can  work  and  listen.     Fire  away." 

"  Look  here,  Haldiman,  how  much  do  you  get  for  a 
smear  like  that  ?  " 

Haldiman  stood  back  and  looked  critically  at  the 
picture,  then  said  with  a  drawl : 

"  Well,  I'm  in  hopes  of  looting  four  guineas  out  of 
the  pirate  who  edits  the  magazine  this  is  for.  It's  a 
full  page,  you  know." 

"Great  heavens!  Imagine  a  man  doing  a  picture 
for  such  a  sum  as  that !  I  wouldn't  draw  a  line  under 
a  hundred  pounds." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


275 


r,  slam- 
e  room 
ive  just 
g  Cross 
had  no 
^ ;  I  was 
t  be  sar- 

)  me  you 
a  better 
with   his 

an,  where 
syphons? 
ve  a  load 
partly  de- 
l  that  sort 
;s  it  out  of 
ig  that  no 

\  was  won- 
,  placing  a 
a  bottle,  a 
ursclf,  my 
y  work  ? 
n  yourself, 

)W,  Barney. 

,u  get  Cor  a 

:ally  at  the 

ineas  out  of 
for.     It's  a 

ig  a  picture 
aline  under 


"  I've  often  thought  of  putting  my  price  up  to  that 
entrancing  figure,"  replied  Haldiman,  rcllectively,  "  but 
refrained  for  fear  of  bankrupting  the  magazines.  One 
must  have  some  consideration  for  the  sixpenny  press." 

Barney  thrust  his  hand  deep  into  his  trousers  pocket, 
drew  out  a  fist-full  of  coins,  selected  four  sovereigns  and 
four  shillings,  and  placed  them  on  the  table,  saying : 

"  There,  Haldiman,  there's  your  guineas.  I  buy  that 
picture.  Now  sit  down  and  talk  to  me.  I  want  your 
whole  attention." 

Haldiman  stood  for  a  moment  looking  alternately 
at  the  money  and  at  the  man.  At  last  he  spoke, 
slowly  and  quietly  : 

"Some  day,  Barney,  you'll  do  a  thing  like  that,  and 
get  smashed  in  consequence.  I'm  unfortunately  un- 
able to  throw  you  out  of  the  window  myself ;  but 
there  is  a  cabman  loitering  about  in  front,  and  I  will 
call  him  in  to  assist  me  if  you  don't  at  once  put  that 
money  in  your  pocket.  Don't  make  me  violate  the 
sacred  rules  of  hospitality." 

"  You  have  violated  them,  Hal,  already,  by  getting 
angry.  I  see  you're  angry,  so  don't  deny  it.  13esides, 
the  cabman  wouldn't  come  ;  I  own  him,  and  if  he  did 
I  could  put  you  both  out." 

"You  can't  hire  me,  like  a  cabman,  you  know, 
Barney." 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not.  I'm  not  trying  to, 
dear  boy.  Do  sit  down  and  be  sensible.  I've  come 
to  you  as  one  friend  to  another,  for  I'm  at  a  crisis  in 
my  career.  I  need  help,  so  be  good  to  me.  I  take 
a  serious  view  of  life  now,  and " 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"Since  this  morning,  if  you  like.  The  'when' 
doesn't  matter.  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
I'm  wasting  my  existence.  You'll  scoff,  of  course,  but 
I  know  I  have  genius — not  talent,  mind,  but  genius. 
There's  no  use  of  making  any  bones  about  it,  or  pre- 
tending false  modesty :  if  a  man  is  a  genius,  he  knows 
it.     Very  well,  then,  why  not  say  so  ?  '* 


2/6 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■  :;    i 

1 

i 

/■i4 


ti 


"  I  see  no  reason  against  it." 

"  Quite  so.  Now,  Haldiman,  how  much  money  do 
you  make  in  a  year?" 

"  You  mean,  how  little?  " 

"  Put  it  any  way  you  like.     Name  the  figure." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  your  genius  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind.     What's  the  amount  ?  " 

"  Now,  Barney,  if  you're  cooking  up  some  new  kind 
of  financial  insult,  I  give  you  fair  warning  I  won't 
stand  it." 

Barney  had  gulped  down  his  stimulant,  and  now 
paced  up  and  down  the  room,  clearing  a  track  for  him- 
self by  kicking  things  out  of  the  way.  Haldiman  sat 
in  a  deep  armchair,  his  legs  stretched  out,  and  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  watching  his  friend's  energetic 
march  to  and  fro. 

"  The  artistic  profession,"  cried  the  pedestrian,  "  has 
been  held  up  to  the  scorn  of  the  world  since  painting 
began.  Read  any  novel,  and  you  will  see  that,  if  the 
heroine  is  to  make  a  doocedly  bad  marriage,  she  invari- 
ably falls  in  love  with  an  artist — invariably." 

"  Well,  she  generally  marries  us." 

"Yes,  and  lives  in  misery  ever  after.*" 

"Oh,  we're  generous,  and  share  it  with  her." 

"You  see  what  I  mean.  The  artist  is  held  up  to 
contempt,  and  all  respectable  people  in  the  book  are 
aghast  at  the  girl's  choice.     Now,  why  is  this?  " 

"  Ask  me  a  harder  one.  It  is  because  fiction  is 
notoriously  untrue  to  life.  The  wives  of  the  Royal 
Academy  live  in  a  splendour  and  luxury  undreamed 
of  by  the  ordinary  lady  of  title." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  It's  because  the  artists  don't 
business-manage  themselves.  They  have  no  commer- 
cial sense.  Therefore  they  are  poor.  Now,  if  a  man 
invents  a  soap,  what  does  he  do?" 

"  Washes  himself." 

"  He  advertises  it.  He  becomes  rich.  Why,  then,  if 
a  man  writes  a  great  book,  should  he  not  advertise  him- 
self and  his  book  in  every  way  that  is  open  to  him?" 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


27^ 


"  I  believe  he  does,  Barney.  Where  have  you  been 
living  this  while  back  to  be  so  ignorant  of  the 
approved  modern  methods  in  art  and  literature?  " 

"  Isn't  a  great  picture  of  more  value  to  the  world 
than  a  much-advertised  soap  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  me,  I  should  say,  no.  I'd  back  the 
soap  as  a  civilizer  against  the  Louvre  any  day." 

Barney  stopped  in  his  walk,  raised  his  arms  above 
his  head,  and  let  them  drop  heavily  to  his  sides. 

"  I  haven't  a  friend  in  the  world  ! "  he  cried,  in 
tragic  tones.     "Not  one — not  one!" 

"  Barney,  this  conversation  is  bewildering.  What 
are  you  driving  at,  anyhow  ?  Art,  soap,  literature,  ad- 
vertising, friendship,  marriage — what's  wrong  ?  Who 
is  the  woman  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  women !     I  hate  them  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  most  successful  in  that  line. 
I  believe  I  have  your  own  authority  for  the  state- 
ment." 

"  Success !  One  is  successful  up  to  a  point ;  then 
there  is  a  disappointment  that  shows  what  a  sham 
success  has  been.     I'll  never  speak  to  a  woman  again." 

"  I've  been  there  myself — several  times.  Still  we 
always  return — if  not  to  our  first  love,  to  our  fourth, 
or  fifth.  As  for  friends,  I  don't  know  any  man  who 
has  more." 

"  Not  true  friends,  Haldiman.  I  haven't  one,  I  tell 
you.  I  did  think  you  were  a  friend,  and  you  do  noth. 
ing  but  sneer  at  me.  You  think  I  don't  see  it ;  I  do, 
all  the  same.  I'm  the  most  sensitive  of  men,  although 
nobody  appears  to  appreciate  it." 

",I  don't  sneer  at  you,  Barney.  What  put  that  in 
your  head  ?  I  think  you  sometimes  fail  to  appreciate 
other  people's  sensitiveness.  You  are  a  trifle  prone  to 
flaunt  Bank  of  England  notes  in  the  faces  of  those  not 
so  well  provided  as  you  are  with  them.  Then  the 
sensitive  soul  rises  in  rebellion." 

"  That's  my  unfortunate  manner,  Haldiman.  I 
don't  really  mean  to  do  so.     If  I  had  a  game  leg,  or  a 


,nff^^ 


278 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1* 


I       4 


I    ! 


club  foot,  and  came  thumping  in  here  with  it,  you 
wouldn't  make  fun  of  my  defect,  would  you  ?  Of 
course  not.  Well,  why  should  you  resent  a  defect  of 
manner  when  you  know  my  intentions  are  good?  " 

"  I  don't  resent  anything  about  you,  Barney — at 
least  only  spasmodically." 

"You  know  I'd  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  to  serve 
a  friend — I  would,  honest  I  Yet  I've  no  luck.  Here  is 
a  poor  devil  of  a  musician  I  am  trying  to  befriend.  I 
can  see  he  dislikes  me  intensely,  I  got  a  publisher  to 
bring  out  some  of  his  music — paid  all  the  expenses — 
yet  it  was  like  pulling  teeth  to  get  that  organist  to  al- 
low me  to  help  him,  and  he's  a  genius  if  ever  there  was 
one.  I  got  a  select  and  appreciative  audience  to- 
gether to  hear  him  play.  He  didn't  come,  although 
he  promised  to  do  so,  and  the  people  thought  I  was 
trying  to  make  fools  of  them.  It  must  be  all  my  ac- 
cursed manner.  Now  you  always  know  the  right 
thing  to  say :  I  don't.  My  genius  doesn't  run  that 
way.     I'm  an  artist." 

Haldiman  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  Bar- 
ney  stared  at  him,  displeasure  on  his  brow. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  you  laughing  at  now  ? 

"  Forgive  me,  Barney ;  I'm  laughing  at  the  thump- 
ing of  your  club  foot,  although  you  did  not  believe 
me  capable  of  it." 

"  What  have  I  said  ?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing.  Barney,  I  love  you  1  You 
are  the  one  and  only  Barnard  Hope ;  all  others  are 
base  imitations.  Now  listen  to  me.  I  haven't  the 
faintest  idea  what  it  is  you  want.  This  conversation 
has  been  simply  encyclopaedic  in  the  amount  of  ground 
covered  ;  but  I'll  do  for  you  what  you  would  do  for 
me,  short  of  abduction  or  assassination.  I'd  prefer 
not  to  land  myself  in  prison,  if  you  don't  mind,  but 
I'll  even  run  the  risk  of  that.  What  do  you  want? 
Out  with  it!" 

"  But  the  moment  I  begin,  you'll  say  your*e  insulted. 
You  terrorize  me,  Haldiman, — 'pon  my  soul,  you  do  1 " 


»t 


'm 


I  I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


279 


L  it,  you 
ou?    Of 
defect  of 
od?" 
rney — at 

to  serve 
Here  is 
iriend.     I 
blisher  to 
(cpenses — 
.nist  to  al- 
there  was 
iience  to- 
,  although 
ght  I  was 
all  my  ac- 
the   right 
t   run  that 

^hed.    Bar. 

^ »» 

w  r 

he  thump- 
ot  beUeve 


^ou  \    You 
others  are 
laven  t  the 
pnversation 
It  of  ground 
)uld  do  for 
I'd  prefer 
^  mind,  but 
you  want? 

'e   insulted. 
il,you  dol" 


"  Go  on.  For  ten  minutes  insults  are  barred.  Wi// 
you  go  on  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  I  asked  you  how  much  you  made  in  a 
year,  and  you  jeered  at  me." 

"  I  never  keep  accounts,  and  never  pay  a  debt  until 
the  brokers  come  in,  so  I  real'/  haven't  the  slightest 
idea.  You  can  guess  at  the  amount  just  as  well  as  I 
can.     Guess  and  proceed." 

"  All  right.  I  want  to  pay  you  double  your  yearly 
income  for  your  help  in  this  matter." 

"That  isn't  friendship,  that's  commercialism  again. 
I  beg  pardon,  I  forgot.  Don't  look  daggers,  Barney ; 
I  accept.     Can  I  have  the  money  in  advance  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  cried  Barney,  gleefully,  mak- 
ing a  dive  for  his  inside  pocket ;  then,  as  the  other 
went  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  the  joyful  look  faded  into 
an  expression  of  intense  indignation,  and  Barney,  with 
a  curse,  strode  to  the  door.  Haldiman  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  grasped  the  offended  man  by  the  shoulders. 

**  None  of  that !  "  he  cried.  "  Come  back,  you  villain ! 
You  are  not  going  to  offer  me  a  fortune  and  then  sneak 
off  in  that  fashion.  Sit  down,  Barney ;  sit  down  and 
go  on  with  the  pretty  talk !  " 

"  Oh,  it's  no  use  !  "  said  the  other,  in  tones  of  deep 
dejection.  "  I  said  I  hadn't  a  friend  in  the  world,  and 
I  haven't." 

"  Bosh  !  You're  harder  to  humour  than  a  baby.  If 
a  man  may  not  smile  in  his  own  room,  where  may  he? 
I'm  intensely  interested,  and  want  to  know  what  crime 
I'm  expected  to  commit.  Never  mind  the  money,  but 
state  your  case." 

"  The  money  is  part  of  the  case.  I  pay  or  I  don't 
play." 

"  Certainly.  That's  understood.  I  accept.  Fire 
away ! " 

"  Well,  you  know  all  the  editors  of  the  illustrated 
weeklies  and  magazines." 

"  For  my  sins  I  do — alas !  " 

"  Then,  to  come  right  to  the  point  as  between  man 


1 


28o 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'f*!*. 


li^ - 


'Jl!> 


II t 


and  man,  I  want  to  buy  a  first-class  critic,  and  the 
editor  of  a  first-class  illustrated  periodical." 

**  You  mean  you  want  to  buy  a  going  magazine  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  kind.  I  mean  just 
what  I  say." 

**Then  I  don't  quite  understand  you.     Explain." 

"What  I  want  is  this:  I  want  a  first-class  art-critic 
to  write  an  article  in  a  first-class  periodical  saying 
Barnard  Hope  is  the  greatest  artist  the  world  has  ever 
seen." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No,  that's  not  all.  I  want  the  article  superbly 
illustrated — in  colour  if  possible — with  reproductions 
of  my  chief  paintings." 

*'  Ah  !  I  wouldn't  do  that,  Barney,  if  I  were  you. 
The  pictures  would  be  rather  a  give-away  of  the  great 
critic's  eulogy." 

"  Yes,  I  knew^  you  would  say  that.  The  obvious- 
ness of  such  a  remark  would  commend  itself  to  you. 
But  you  see  I'm  perfectly  frank  with  you.  Now,  could 
you  manage  this  for  me?  Remember,  I  don't  care 
how  much  money  I  spend." 

Haldiman  removed  the  black  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  it,  and  thoughtfully  re-filled 
it. 

"  Well,  for  brazen  cheek,  Barney,"  he  said  at  last, 
"that  proposal " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know,  I  know.  But  these  things 
happen  every  day — or,  not  to  exaggerate,  let  us  say 
every  second  day.  It  is  simply  doing  for  me  what 
Ruskin  did  for  Turner.  Turner  painted  away  all  his 
life  ;  nobody  recognized  him,  and  he  died  in  Chelsea. 
Now  I'm  living  in  Chelsea,  and  I  want  recognition 
during  my  life.  Of  course  my  Ruskin  will  come 
along  after  I'm  dead  ;  but,  like  the  fellow  who  was  to 
be  executed,  I  won't  be  there  to  enjoy  it.  Things 
rarely  happen  at  the  right  moment  in  this  world,  and 
my  brazen  proposal  is  merely  to  take  events  by  the 
coat  collar  and  hurry  them  up  a  bit.     You  see  what  I 


-A- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


281 


nd  the 

ine  r 
;an  just 

lain. 

Lit-critic 
I  saying 
has  ever 


superbly 
ductions 

rere  you. 
:hc  great 

obvious- 
f  to  you. 
Dvv,  could 
Dn't   care 

s  mouth, 
re-filled 

at  last, 

je  things 

k  us  say 

|me  what 

ly  all  his 

Chelsea. 
:ognition 

ill    come 

lo  was  to 

Things 

lorld,  and 

:s  by  the 

;e  what  I 


mean  ?  Besides,  I'm  infinitely  greater  than  Turner, 
don't  you  know." 

Haldiman  smoked  and  meditated  for  some  mo-. 
ments;  then  he  said: 

"  I'm  not  sure  but  the  trick  may  be  done,  although 
I  doubt  if  brutal  barefaced  bribery  will  do  it.  How 
would  a  magazine  like  *  Our  National  Art '  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  better." 

"And  would  a  French  art-critic  like  Vicllieme  be 
satisfactory?  " 

"  Perfectly.  What  he  says  is  taken  for  gospel  all 
the  world  over." 

"Well,  I  happen  to  know  that  the  editor  of  *  Our 
National  Art '  has  been  trying  for  a  year  to  get  Viel- 
lieme  to  write  about  English  art ;  but  the  Frenchman 
won't  come  over  to  London,  even  for  a  day,  at  any 
price.  Viellieme  is  great  as  a  writer,  but  greater  still 
as  a  money-spender.  I'll  run  over  to  Paris  and 
sound  him.  You  couldn't  bribe  the  editor  of  *  Our 
National  Art,'  but  he  will  print  anything  Viellieme 
will  write  for  him.  Now  I  know  the  Frenchman 
doesn't  care  what  he  writes  for  England,  although  he 
is  rather  particular  about  what  appears  in  Paris.  He 
thinks  there  is  no  art  in  England." 

"  He's  right,  too,  as  far  as  his  knowledge  goes ;  but 
he's  never  seen  anything  of  mine." 

"  Just  so.  Then,  if  Viellieme  agrees,  you  would  be 
willing  to  send  some  of  your  immortal  works  over  to 
Paris  for  his  inspection." 

"All  of  them,  my  boy,  all  of  them." 

"  Then  we'll  look  on  that  as  settled.  I'll  do  my 
best." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  fellow  !  God  bless  you  !  " 
cried  Barney  with  deep  em^  'on,  crushingly  wringing 
the  hand  of  the  wincing  man,  whom  he  now  declared 
to  be  his  one  friend  on  earth.  He  clattered  noisily 
down  the  stair  like  a  stalwart  trooper,  sprang  into  the 
waiting  hansom,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Marsten  went  to  work  with  an  energy  and  single- 
ness of  purpose  which  probably  no  organizer  of  labour 
ever  felt  before.  Chance,  or  destiny,  had  placed  him 
in  exactly  the  position  he  had  long  hoped  to  attain. 
At  first  there  was  little  to  be  done  but  wait  until  the 
Union  had  recovered  from  the  wounds  received  in  the 
late  fruitless  struggle ;  nevertheless,  while  he  waited, 
he  planned  and  gradually  developed  the  scheme 
which  he  hoped  would  revolutionize  the  labour  of  the 
world.  He  saw  in  the  future  one  vast  republic  of 
workers — not  bounded  by  nationality,  but  spreading 
over  the  entire  earth — with  its  foothold  wherever  one 
man  toiled  with  his  hands  to  enrich  another.  He  had 
no  delusions  regarding  the  immediate  success  of  his 
project,  and  did  not  flatter  himself  that  his  ideas  would 
spread  with  a  :ything  like  the  rapidity  of  the  cholera, 
for  example ;  but  he  hoped  first  to  place  the  Union  on 
a  firm  footing  in  England,  and  then,  with  a  brilliantly 
successful  strike — conducted  as  a  general  of  genius 
conducts  a  battle — to  show  what  might  be  done  by  a 
thoroughly  we'1-organized  force  against  a  rich  and 
powerful  firm  like  that  of  Monkton  &  Hope.  He 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  every  worker  in 
England  would  be  a  member  of  the  Union ;  after  that 
he  hoped  to  affiliate  all  the  workers  in  all  English- 
speaking  countries ;  finally,  the  benighted  foreigner 
would  be  included.  Then,  when  the  whole  was  united 
like  an  electric  installation  in  a  city,  the  unfortunate 
capitalist  who  placed  a  finger  on  one  point  would  re- 
ceive the  combined  current  of  the  entire  system,  and 
die  without  knowing  what  hurt  him.    The  equipment 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


283 


nd  single- 
of  labour 
laced  him 
to  attain, 
t  until  the 
ived  in  the 
he  waited, 
le    scheme 
)Our  of  the 
republic   of 
t  spreading 
lerever  one 
L     He  had 
ccess  of  his 
ideas  would 
the  cholera, 
le  Union  on 
a  brilliantly 
\\  of   genius 
done  by  a 
a  rich   and   \ 
Hope.     He   j 
worker  in  j 
a ;  after  that 
all   English- 
'ed  foreigner 
e  was  united 
unfortunate 
,nt  would  re- 
system,  and 
e  equipment 


of  the  workers  would  be  so  complete  that  strikes 
would  become  fewer  and  fewer,  and  finally  cease;  just 
as  war  will  cease  when  weapons  of  offence  reach  such 
a  state  of  perfection  that  no  nation  will  dare  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  another. 

This  great  republic  of  labour  would  be  divide  1  into 
various  states,  and  these  states  would  be  again  sub- 
divided into  as  many  sections  as  experience  showed  to 
be  most  practicable.  Each  section  would  elect  its  sec- 
retary, the  secretaries  would  elect  a  governor  of  the 
state,  the  governors  would  elect  a  president  of  the 
whole  organization.  Every  official  should  be  paid  a 
salary,  suf^cient,  even  in  the  lesser  oflfices,  to  keep  the 
incumbent  and  his  family  without  the  necessity  of 
manual  labour,  so  that  each  officer's  whole  time  could 
be  given  for  the  benefit  of  the  Union. 

Marsten  gave  much  thought  to  the  problem  of  recon- 
ciling deserved  promotion  with  popular  election,  and, 
perhaps,  if  he  had  known  more  of  the  results  of  uni- 
versal suffrage  in  a  city  like  New  York,  he  might  have 
reconstructed  his  whole  plan  ;  but  he  had  full  belief 
in  the  adage  that  the  voice  of  the  people  coincides 
with  that  of  the  Almighty,  and  so,  perhaps,  did  not 
quite  appreciate  the  practical  difficulties  which  lay  in 
wait  for  a  scheme  that  looked  beautiful  on  paper. 

Early  experience  convinced  him  that  he  could  hope 
for  no  active  assistance  from  the  men  themselves,  and 
he  promptly  eliminated  that  factor  from  his  calcula- 
tions. He  thought  of  beginning  his  fight  with  an 
educational  campaign,  using  in  this  way  the  time 
which  must  elapse  before  the  treasury  of  the  Union 
was  once  more  in  funds ;  but  he  found  he  could  never 
get  more  than  half  a  dozen  of  the  men  together  at  one 
time,  and  those  who  came  to  the  meetings  he  called 
seemed  to  take  but  slight  interest  in  what  he  had  to 
say.  This  did  not  discourage  him,  as  he  was,  in  a 
measure,  prepared  for  the  indifference  he  met ;  and  he 
remembered  that  his  great  model,  Napoleon,  took  no 
one  into  his  confidence.     Napoleon  struck  unexpect- 


1  r 


284 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


V'M    


edly, — struck  quick  and  struck  hard, — and  Marstcn  re- 
solved to  do  the  same  the  moment  he  had  the  power. 
Failing  to  interest  the  men  collectively  in  the  desira- 
bility of  a  close  and  universal  Union,  Marsten  tried  to 
win  their  separate  confidence  ;  but  he  soon  discovered 
that  in  attempting  this  he  was  travelling  a  dangerous 
road.  He  was  amazed  to  find  that  there  existed  a 
latent  sullen  opposition  to  him;  that  many  of  the 
men  seemed  to  regret  the  generous  impulse  which  had 
caused  them  to  place  him  where  he  was.  They  could 
not  see  what  he  did  to  irn  the  money  he  received ; 
some  thought  they  were  ^^iving  him  too  much,  as  he 
had  no  work  to  do  ;  and  more  than  one  advised  him 
to  keep  quiet  and  leave  the  men  alone,  to  know  when 
he  was  well  off,  and  not  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  the 
members  to  the  fact  that  they  were  supporting  him  in 
idleness  and  luxury. 

Marsten  resolved  to  let  nothing  stand  in  the  way  of 
success.  He  believed  he  could  more  than  earn  any 
salary  they  gave  him,  and  no  man  in  London  had  a 
greater  incentive  for  making  and  accumulating  money 
than  he  had  ;  nevertheless,  he  desired  above  all  things 
to  hold  the  good  opinion  of  the  men  and  to  convince 
them  that  he  was  working  for  them  and  not  for  him- 
self. He  realized  that  alone  he  was  powerless,  but 
with  their  united  support  he  was  invincible. 

He  called  a  meeting  to  reconsider  the  salary  of  the 
secretary,  and  that  meeting  was  well  attended  ;  for  the 
subject  to  be  discussed  had  more  interest  than  his 
abandoned  educational  campaign,  the  purpose  of  which 
was  to  teach  them  the  principles  of  combination. 
Most  of  the  men  thought  him  a  fool  in  not  knowing 
his  own  good  luck. 

Marsten,  addressing  them,  said  that  his  whole  object 
in  taking  the  secretaryship  was  to  bring  about  aK  amal- 
gamation of  labour  which  would  make  the  results  of 
future  strikes  a  certainty.  All  the  rights  mankind 
possessed  had  been  won  by  battle ;  but  the  battles 
must  be   successful,   and   success  was   only   possible 


©5 


-t 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


285 


ten  re- 
power, 
desira- 
ried  to 
overed 
igerous 
isted  a 
of   the 
ich  had 
y  could 
ceived ; 
h,  as  he 
ed  him 
V  when 
;  of  the 
<;  him  in 

;  way  of 
irn  any 
n  had  a 
money 
1  things 
onvince 
or  him- 
ess,  but 

of  the 
for  the 
Ihan  his 
If  which 
lination. 
•nowing 

object 

iK  amal- 

Isults  of 

lankind 

battles 

jossible 


when  there  was  no  dissension  in  the  camp.  He 
frankly  stated  that  he  had  learned  there  was  some  dis- 
satisfaction because  he  got  more  money  than  was 
earned  by  many  who  laboured  in  the  ranks,  and  he  had 
made  an  estimate  of  how  little  he  could  live  upon, 
which  was  less  than  the  poorest  paid  employee  of  the 
works  received.  He  was  willing  to  accept  this  sum, 
and  would  devote  his  whole  time  and  energy  to  the 
cause  of  labour  as  faithfully  as  if  he  were  given  ten 
times  the  amount. 

Gibbons,  who  had  at  last  found  employment*  Jn  the 
neighbourhood,  here  rose  to  his  feet.  He  said  he 
thought  the  office  of  secretary  could  be  still  more 
economically  filled.  He  was  sure  they  had  men 
among  them,  now  in  employ,  who  would  act  as  secre- 
tary without  salary  from  the  Union,  and  perform  all 
the  duties  quite  acceptably  to  the  majority  of  the  men. 

'*  Why   didn't    you    propose    that   when    you    were 
secretary  yourself.  Gibbons?"  asked  one  of  the  audi 
ence,  at  which  there  was  some  laughter. 

"  I  did  not  do  so  because  I  was  at  that  time  out  of 
work,"  replied  Gibbons,  warming  to  his  theme.  "  I 
don't  wish  to  say  a  word  against  the  present  secretary, 
but  I  would  like  to  ask  him  a  question  or  two.  He 
seemed  once  of  opinion  that  Sartwell  was  a  very 
shrewd,  far-seeing  man.  I  would  like  to  know,  Mr. 
Marsten,  if  you  are  still  of  that  opinion?" 

"  I  am,"  answered  Marsten. 

"  Then  can  you  explain  to  the  meeting  why  Sart- 
well has  taken  no  further  steps  to  cripple  the  Union, 
which  we  all  know  he  desired  to  smash,  and  in  fact 
did  threaten  to  smash?  Why  did  he  not,  in  taking 
back  the  men,  make  it  a  condition  that  they  should 
leave  the  Union  ?" 

**  How  should  I  know  ?  I  may  say,  however,  that  I 
believe  Sartwell  to  be  an  essentially  just  man,  al- 
though he  may  be  mistaken  in  some  things,  and  I 
don't  think  he  would  interfere  with  the  personal  lib- 
erty of  his  employees." 


"1  r 


286 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


**  It  is  very  generous  of  the  secretary  of  our  Union 
to  speak  well  of  the  honesty  of  a  man  who  looted  our 
treasury,  and  we  won't  forget  that  Sartwell  has  at  least 
one  friend  among  us.  It  is  a  little  remarkable  that 
that  one  friend  should  have  been  the  only  man,  of  all 
Sartwell's  employees,  who  was  suddenly  dismissed, 
and,  as  far  as  we  know,  without  cause.  One  more 
question,  Mr.  Marsten.  Do  you  know  why  Sartwell 
discharged  you  ?  " 

Marsten  was  silent,  the  colour  rising  in  his  face. 

"Of  course,"  continued  Gibbons,  calmly,  "you  are 
not  compelled  to  answer.  I  am  merely  asking  what 
many  of  us  have  been  thinking.  You  either  know,  or 
you  do  not.  You  have  called  this  meeting,  and  I 
think  you  should  have  the  courtesy  to  answer  any 
question — any  reasonable  question — asked  you.  You 
say  you  want  the  support  of  the  men,  whose  servant 
you  are.  That  is  a  reasonable  desire;  but  to  bestow 
that  confidence  we  must  have  full  knowledge  of  our 
man.  I  ask  for  the  second  time,  do  you  know  why 
Sartwell  discharged  you  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"Why?" 

"  On  account  of  a  personal  quarrel  between  him  and 
me  with  which  this  meeting  has  nothing  to  do." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  Then  you  had  personal  dealings 
with  the  man  we  were  fighting,  which  you  would  pre- 
fer us  to  know  nothing  about.  I  will  not  press  for  a 
more  specific  answer.  No  man  is  bound  to  incrimi- 
nate himself.  I  have  given  Mr.  Marsten  a  chance  to 
explain  certain  obscure  points  that  have  puzzled  son^e 
of  us,  i""i  I  think  the  answers  wiung  from  him,  with 
only  too  evident  reluctance,  have  no',  bettered  his 
position,  nor  made  any  thinking  man  among  us  the 
more  ready  to  bestow  that  confidence  which  our  sec- 
retary seems  so  much  to  desire.  I  would  like  now  to 
call  your  attention  to  one  or  two  points.  Rightly  or 
wrongly,  the  committee  with  which  I  acted  had  grave 
doubts  of  the  lo^^alty  of  Mr.  Marsten  during  our  late 


;1 
■5 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


287 


:  Union 
3ted  our 
i  at  least 
ble  that 
in,  of  all 
smissed, 
le  more 
Sartwell 

Face, 
you  are 
ng  what 
know,  or 
g,  and  I 
iwer  any 
)u.  You 
e  servant 
o  bestow 
e  of  our 
now  why 


him  and 
»» 

_  • 

dealings 
•uld  pre- 
kss  for  a 
incrimi- 
phance  to 
lied  some 
lim,  with 
[ered   his 
|g  us  the 
our  sec- 
te  now  to 
ightly  or 
lad  grave 


our 


late 


contest.  Before  the  strike  began,  he  himself  admitted 
that  he  had  been  closeted  with  Sartwell,  and  we  know 
that  while  the  fight  was  on  he  was  the  only  man  who 
had  a  conference  with  the  enemy,  and  the  only  man 
who  was  able  to  tell  us  of  the  enemy's  plans — unfor. 
tunately  when  it  was  too  late  to  make  that  knowledge 
useful  to  us.  Whenever  there  was  a  crisis  we  found 
Mr.  Marsten  eloquent  on  the  side  of  giving  in — all 
through  affection  for  the  men,  of  course.  I  am  mak- 
ing no  accusations  ;  I  am  merely  stating  facts  that 
Mr.  Marsten  himself  admits,  and  if  I  am  mistaken  in 
anything  I  say,  the  young  man  is  here  to  set  me  right. 
These  facts  had  a  certain  influence  with  the  commit- 
tee, causing  a  distrust  to  arise  in  their  minds — a  feel- 
ing that  Mr.  Marsten,  for  some  reason,  was  more 
anxious  to  please  Sartwell  than  to  see  his  fellow-work- 
ers win.  Now,  what  happens  ?  The  strike  ends,  and 
we  are  surprised  to  see  that  the  only  man  dismissed  is 
Mr.  Marsten.  The  next  move  is  that  the  young  man 
is  made  secretary  of  the  Union  by  a  practically  unani- 
mous vote.  I  say  that  vote  was  to  the  credit  of  the 
men,  and,  had  I  been  present,  I  would  have  voted  for 
Mr,  Marsten.  But  let  us  look  into  the  matter  a  little 
closer.  Who  agitated  the  election  of  our  new  secre- 
tary ?  I  now  come  to  a  difficult  point,  and  I  want  to 
make  myself  perfectly  clear,  and  to  speak  with  abso- 
lute justice.  *  Say  no  ill  of  the  dead  '  is  a  noble  motto, 
and  I  have  nothing  but  good  to  say  of  that  hero, 
Braunt.  Greater  praise  hath  no  man  than  this,  he 
gave  his  life  to  save  others." 

There  was  tremendous  cheering  at  this,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  Gibbons  could  proceed.  Marsten 
sat  silent  in  his  chair,  with  the  helpless  feeling  of  a 
criminal  in  the  dock.  He  felt  the  chain  of  circum- 
stance tightening  around  him. 

"  Braunt  was  a  hero  in  death  and  a  hero  in  life. 
He  was  frankly  and  honestly  against  us  from  the  first, 
and  he  fought  us  with  an  uprightness  that  I  wish 
Sartwell  had  emulated.     He  took  no  strike  pay,  and 


fTW 


288 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"H. 


u 

i. 

y 

m 

used  language  against  us  which  I  hope  has  been  for- 
gotten, and  which  I  know  has  been  forgiven.  There 
was  nothing  underhand  in  his  opposition,  and  he 
broke  the  back  of  the  strike  by  hitting  from  the 
shoulder  when  we  had  reached  the  desperation  of 
utter  exhaustion.  But,  while  giving  full  credit  to  the 
splendid  character  of  Braunt,  we  must  not  forget  that 
he  was  throughout  our  staunch  opponent,  and  that  it 
was  he  who  elected  Mr.  Marsten  secretary  of  this 
Union. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  I  am  a  plain  man,  who  does  not 
think  himself  any  better  than  the  average.  I  do  not 
look  for  angels  with  wings  among  my  fellow-workers; 
I  look  for  plain,  every-day  motives  when  trying  to 
trace  cause  from  effect.  It  is  not  natural  for  a  man  to 
beg  for  a  reduction  of  his  screw  unless  that  man  is  an 
angel,  or  unless  there  is  some  hidden  cause  for  his 
doing  so.  We  strike  to  increase  our  wages,  and  I 
have  never  heard  of  a  deputation  of  workingmen 
waiting  on  an  employer  to  ask  for  a  reduction.  Mr. 
Marsten  does  what  we  know  to  be  most  unusual,  and 
what  we  believe  to  be  unnatural.  What  is  his 
motive  ?  Who  is  going  to  make  up  the  deficiency  in 
his  salary  ?  These  are  questions  for  you  to  answer, 
I  have  tried  to  state  nothing  but  facts,  and  no  state- 
ment I  have  made  has  been  contradicted.  The  result 
is  a  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  that  would  con- 
vict a  man  in  any  court  in  the  land.  Men  have  been 
hanged  on  evidence  less  complete." 

Gibbons  sat  down  amidst  universal  applause.  Mars- 
ten rose  to  his  feet  slowly.  He  knew  the  meeting 
was  solidly  against  him,  and  that  he  had  to  bring  it 
around  in  his  favour  or  lose  the  race  before  it  began. 
There  flashed  through  his  mind  the  sentence,  "  It  is 
not  the  capitalist  who  will  defeat  you,  but  the  men 
you  are  fighting  for."  He  remembered  Braunt's  utter 
lack  of  faith  in  the  rope  of  sand.     Then  he  spoke : 

"  I  have  listened  attentively  to  what  has  been  said, 
and  I  have  listened  without  interruption  because  I  have 


! 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


289 


;en  for- 

There 
and  he 
om  the 
.tion  of 
t  to  the 
get  that 
1  that  it 

of   this 

loes  not 
[  do  not 
ATorkers; 
rying  to 
1  man  to 
lan  is  an 
I  tor  his 
s,  and  I 
kingmen 
on.     Mr. 
sual,  and 
is    his 
ciency  in 
answer, 
no  state- 
le  result 
)uld  con- 
ive  been 

;.  Mars- 
meeting 
bring  it 

it  began. 

e,  ''  It  is 
the  men 

it's  utter 
)oke : 

\een  said, 
je  I  have 


sat  spellbound  by  the  cleverness  of  the  speech,  ad- 
miring its  force  and  logic,  and  deeply  regretting  the 
fact  that  I  have  not  the  eloquence  and  gifts  of  the 
speaker  who  has  just  sat  down.  Two  things  are  at 
this  moment  uppermost  in  my  mind.  First,  that  if 
some  stranger  were  in  my  place,  and  I  were  sitting 
among  you,  I  should  believe  him  guilty.  Second, 
there  has  come  over  me  a  feeling  of  sympathy  with 
any  man  who  has  been  condemned  on  circumstantial 
evidence.  I  know  now,  as  I  never  did  before,  that 
many  a  poor  wretch  has  gone  to  an  undeserved  death. 
Gibbons,  you  have  throughout  referred  to  me  as 
Mr.  Marsten.  I  disclaim  the  *Mr.,'  as  doubtless  you 
do,  so  I  shall  call  you  plain  Gibbons.  Gibbons,  you 
have  defeated  me.  The  meeting  I  have  called  to- 
gether is  against  me  and  for  you." 

There  were  cries  of  dissent  at  this. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is.  I  will  prove  it  in  a  minute  by  put- 
ting it  to  vote,  if  you  like." 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Gibbons;  "that  is  not  fair.  I 
protest  against  a  vote  being  taken  after  uch  a  dec- 
laration." 

"I  am  going  to  take  no  unfair  advantage,  and  only 
spoke  of  a  vote  because  my  assertion  seemed  to  be 
doubted.  Now,  Gibbons,  you  asked  me  several  ques- 
tions ;  I  claim  the  right  to  put  a  few  to  you,  and  I 
charge  you  to  answer  as  honestly  as  if  you  were  on 
oath.  Do  you  actually  believe  that  I  am  in  the  pay 
of  Sartwell?" 

"  I  didn't  say  so." 

"  Do  you  believe  I  am  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  What  object  could  Sartwell  have  in  buying  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  that's  too  self-evident.  If  he  controls  you  he 
controls  the  action  of  the  Union." 

"'  Please  explain  how.  No  action  can  betaken  with- 
out a  majority  vote." 

"  That's  it  exactly.  That's  why  you  are  begging 
for  our  confidence    and    support,  so    that  when    the 


290 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


*ll 


'lUi 


hl'H 


ft 


time  comes  you  can  deliver  to  Sartwell  what  he  pays 
for." 

**  I  see.     Did  Sartwell  ever  offer  to  buy  you  ?  " 

"  He  never  did.     He  knew  better." 

"  Did  you  ever  offer  to  sell  yourself  to  Sartwell  ?  " 

"  What's  that  ?     What  dc  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I'll  put  the  question  in  another  way.  Did  you 
write  a  private  letter  to  Sartwell  a  few  days  before 
the  strike  ended?" 

Gibbons  rose  to  his  feet  in  such  evident  confusion 
that  several  of  the  crowd  laughed,  and  all  were  in  a 
state  of  tense  excitement.  This  was  the  kind  of  thing 
they  liked.  Marsten  was  carrying  the  war  into 
Africa. 

"What  are  you  accusing  me  of?"  cried  Gibbons. 

"  Like  yourself,  I  am  making  no  accusations.  Did 
you  send  such  a  letter  or  not  ?  " 

"  As  leader  of  the  strike  I  may— 

"  No,  no.     Answer,  yes  or  no.'* 

"  Let  me  explain.     I  say " 

"  First  answer  the  question.  Gibbons." 

"  I  refuse  to  be  coerced  in  this  manner.  I  am  will- 
ing to  answer  anything,  but  I  must  be  allowed  to 
answer  in  my  own  way." 

"  No  man  is  bound  to  incriminate  himself.  Gibbons, 
as  you  remarked  a  while  ago.  Since  we  cannot  get 
an  answer  to  that  question,  I  will  ask  another.  Will 
you  give  me  permission  to  read  your  Sartwell  letter 
to  this  meeting?" 

Gibbons  was  dumbfounded,  and  forgot  entirely,  in 
his  agitation,  that  the  letter  had  been  returned  to  him, 
remembering  only  that  its  contents  were  not  for  the 
general  public.  His  attitude  was  that  of  conscious 
guilt. 

"  Read  it,  read  it ! "  cried  the  crowd,  and  the  shouts 
seemed  to  rouse  Gibbons  to  a  sense  of  the  situation. 

"  I  protest  against  the  reading  of  a  private  letter  in 
public,"  he  stammered. 

"  And  quite  right,  too,"  Faid  Marsten.     "  I  protested 


A 


i 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


291 


he  pays 


i?" 


well  ?  " 

Did  you 
rs  before 

confusion 

were  in  a 

1  of  thing 

war   into 

ibbons. 
ons.     Did 


I  am  will- 
illowed  to 

f,  Gibbons, 

cannot  get 

her.     Will 

well  letter 

entirely,  in 
Ued  to  him, 
I  not  for  the 
conscious 

the  shouts 
situation, 
late  letter  in 

\  I  protested 


against  the  public  discussion  of  a  private  quarrel, 
and  the  protest  was  held  against  me.  Now  I  have  no 
desire  to  push  my  opponent  to  the  wall,  and  I  will 
say  at  once  that  the  letter  in  question  may  be  as 
innocent  as  '  Mary  had  a  little  lamb.'  I  never  read  it 
and  never  saw  it.  I  heard  of  it  through  a  chance 
remark,  but  I  know  nothing  of  its  contents.  You  see 
now  how  easy  it  is  to  ask  a  question  a  man  may 
hesitate  to  answer,  and  you  see  of  how  little  value 
circumstantial  evidence  is.  Now,  Gibbons,  we  are 
quits,  and  I  am  willing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  if 
you  are.  I  give  you  my  word — and  that  is  all  I  have 
to  offer,  for  I'm  the  poorest  among  you — that  I  am 
not  in  the  pay  of  any  one  on  earth  except  yourselves. 
I  swear  to  you  that  I  have  only  one  object  in  view, 
and  that  is  the  bettering  of  our  condition.  All  I  ask 
is  fair  play.  Perhaps  I  can't  do  what  I  think  I  can, 
but  I  want  to  try.  If  I  fail,  then  let  the  next  man 
come  on  and  have  his  try,  and  he  will  have  no  more 
earnest  supporter  than  I  will  be.  With  dissension  in 
our  ranks,  nothing  can  be  done  ;  so  I  want  the  backing 
of  every  man  in  the  Union,  and  more  especially  of 
the  man  who  thinks  I  have  been  a  traitor, — which  I 
declare  to  him  and  to  you  I  was  not.  Now,  Gibbons, 
this  has  been  an  open  question-and-answer  meeting. 
There  has  been  a  free-for-all  give  and  take  here  to- 
night. I  have  a  last  question  to  ask  you :  are  you 
going  to  be  my  friend  or  my  enemy?  " 

There  were  cries  of  "Toe  the  mark,  Gibbons!** 
"Time  !  "  "  Speak  up,  my  boy  !  "  "  Show  your  hand, 
Gibbons ! " 

Gibbons,  who  had  now  recovered  his  equanimity, 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  said  :  "  I  move,  gentlemen,  that 
Marsten  be  confirmed  in  his  secretaryship  of  the 
Union,  and  I  hope  the  vote  will  be  unanimous.  We 
will  give  him  what  he  asks — a  fair  chance — and  as  long 
as  he  deals  squarely  with  us,  we  will  deal  squarely 
with  him.  As  far  as  my  friendship  or  enmity  is  con- 
cerned, I  may  say  that  I'm  a  friend  to  any  one  who  is 


«! 


Pfw 


>li: 


292 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


loyal  to  the  cause,  and  an  enemy  to  those  who  are 
against  it.  I  think  that  is  all  that  can  be  asked  of 
me  or  any  other  man  present." 

The  motion  was  seconded  and  carried  unanimously, 
and  the  object  for  which  the  meeting  was  convened 
was  lost  sight  of  entirely. 

Marsten  went  on  with  his  work  of  organization,  and 
met  with  much  encouragement  from  the  societies  with 
which  he  entered  into  correspondence.  Whatever 
opposition  there  was  to  him  in  his  jwn  Union,  it  at 
least  did  not  show  itself  openly ;  but  Marsten  did 
not  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  Gibbons  was  his 
friend. 


*,'ia8 


i    '■  i 

^ 

1 

■  < 

-  1 

n 

i 

1 

L 

.ifitMa 


^ho  are 
sked  of 


mously, 
)nvened 

ion,  and 
ies  with 
'hatever 
on,  it  at 
;ten  did 
was  his 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Ingenious  persons  have  shown  that  a  five-pound 
note  rightly  guided  will  liquidate  an  almost  unlimited 
amount  of  liability.  Let  it  be  granted,  says  the  mathe- 
matician, that  A  owes  B  ;  B  owes  C ;  C  owes  D,  and 
D  owes  A, — one  hundred  shillings  in  each  case.  A 
gives  a  five-pound  note  to  B,  who  gives  it  to  C,  who 
gives  it  to  D,  who  gives  it  to  A.  The  peregrina- 
tions of  the  same  note  wipes  out  twenty  pounds  of 
debt,  and  A  has  the  original  bit  of  paper  he  started 
with. 

In  like  manner  a  clever  person  can  bestow  a  great 
favour  upon  another  and  at  the  same  time  accommo- 
date several  others,  leaving  all  under  obligations  to 
him;  while  a  blunderer,  instead  of  making  everybody 
happy,  would  have  accomplished  nothing  beyond 
creating  enemies  for  himself. 

The  shrewd  Haldiman,  bringing  some  promised 
work  to  the  editor  of  "  Our  National  Art,"  casually 
mentioned  that  Barnard  Hope  had  been  invited  to 
send  some  of  his  paintings  to  Paris. 

"  What !  Do  you  mean  the  Chelsea  giant  ?  Why, 
that  ass  doesn't  understand  the  rudiments  of  drawing, 
and  as  for  colour — great  heavens!  there  isn't  a  pave- 
ment chalk  artist  who  is  not  his  superior." 

Haldiman  looked  puzzled  ;  then  he  said  with  some 
hesitation : 

"  I  confess  I  used  to  think  that ;  but  of  course  we 
studied  together  in  Paris,  and  we  students  always 
underestimate  each  other.  There  is  something  in 
Barney's  paintings  that  I  don't  pretend  to  under- 
stand." 


w 


:94 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"^,„ 


fi',. 


"  Understand  !  Bosh  !  There's  nothing  in  them  but 
the  vilest  and  most  ignorant  smearing  ever  put  upon 
canvas." 

"Then  how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  some 
of  the  most  advanced  critics  are  beginning  to  consider 
Barney  seriously,  as  a  new  factor  in  the  art  world?" 

"  I  hadn't  heard  of  it.     Who,  for  instance?" 

"  Well,  I'm  told  that  Viellieme  simply  raves  over 
his  work — says  it's  a  distinctive  new  note,  and  that 
Barney  is  the  only  original  genius  England  has  ever 
produced." 

"  You  amaze  me !  It  can't  be  true !  Whatever 
any  one  may  say  of  Viellieme's  moral  nature,  no  one 
can  deny  that  he  knows  a  picture  when  he  sees  it." 

'*  Of  course ;  I'm  simply  giving  what  I  have  heard. 
As  I  say,  I  don't  admire  Barney's  work  myself.  How- 
ever, I'm  just  off  for  Paris,  and  I'll  find  out  for  you, 
on  the  quiet,  just  what  Viellieme  thinks.  If  Barney 
is  a  coming  man  you'd  want  to  know  it,  and  at  least 
give  the  first  inkling  of  the  new  craze,  if  there  is  to 
be  one,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     But  I  can't  believe  it !  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  mention  it,  but 
I  know  that  a  number  of  Barney's  paintings  are 
going  over  to  France,  and  I  believe  especially  for 
Viellieme's  inspection." 

"  I  say,  Haldiman,  just  find  out  for  me  all  you  can, 
will  you  ?  It  seems  incredible !  Still,  art  is  full  of  sur- 
prises, and  I  should  like  to  know.  If  it  is  true,  try  to 
induce  Viellieme  to  write  an  article  on  the  new  era  in 
art  for  me." 

"Would  you  print  an  article  on  Barney,  if  I  get 
Viellieme  to  write  it?  I  thought  you  didn't  care  for 
Barney's  work." 

"  I  don't,  but  I'll  gladly  print  anything  Viellieme 
will  sign.  Of  course,  among  the  different  schools  I 
endeavour  to  maintain  absolute  impartiality.  I  be- 
lieve in  letting  every  side  be  heard." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  my  best." 


]'m 


TI.H-,  MUTABLE  MANY. 


295 


"Thanks,  Haldiman.  T'Ube  very  much  obh'ged  to 
you,  and  any  expense  you " 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it.  I'm  going  to  Paris  anyhow, 
so  there  won't  be  any  extra  expense." 

The  article,  marvellously  illustrated,  appeared  in  due 
course.  The  result  quite  justified  Barney's  expectr^- 
tions  and  expenditure,  and  the  Barnard  Hope  boom 
raged  up  and  down  the  land.  He  was  interviewed, 
and  photographed,  and  paragraphed.  For  a  time  it 
was  hardly  possible  to  pick  up  a  sixpenny  illustrated 
weekly  without  seeing  the  latest  photograph  of  Bar- 
ney in  it,  for  the  young  man  developed  a  genius  for 
posing  before  a  camera  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  our  greatest  actor.  The  picture  representing  him 
standing  with  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  a  stern 
commanding  expression  upon  his  countenance,  was 
the  one  perhaps  most  sought  after  by  young  ladies, 
although  the  one  in  which  he  looked  like  Rembrandt 
was  also  very  popular.  Exhibitors  begged  for  his 
paintings,  nabobs  bought  them,  and  nobody  under- 
stood them,  which  fact  made  the  boom  a  permanency. 
Real  painters  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement,  and 
asked,  "  What  is  this  world  coming  to?  " — a  question 
often  propounded  and  never  adequately  answered. 

His  great  fame  did  not  change  Barney  a  particle; 
he  was  the  same  hail-fellow  he  had  always  been,  and 
an  invitation  to  his  "  At  Home  "  became  a  distinction. 
America  was  especially  lavish  in  its  purchases  of  his 
work,  and  he  was  offered  fabulous  sums  to  go  there 
and  lecture.  The  adulation  he  received  would  have 
turned  the  head  of  almost  any  man  ;  but  it  had  little 
effect  on  him,  because  he  never  had  the  slightest  mis- 
giving that  his  great  reputation  was  entirely  unde- 
served, and  he  had  looked  upon  himself  as  the  foremost 
man  of  the  age  long  before  the  world  had  recognized 
the  fact.  He  received  letters  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  whose  writers,  in  most  gushing  phrase,  said 
they  had  been  privileged    to   look  upon  his  work  at 


I 
i 

i 


Pf 


^fm 


296 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■^5 


f^ 

■1, 

'                1 

such  and  such  an  exhibition,  and  they  hoped  to  live 
better  and  nobler  lives  in  consequence.  Some  of  these 
epistles  affected  Barney  almost  to  tears,  and  he  read 
them  to  his  friends,  humbly  thankful  that  the  gift  of 
bestowing  such  pleasure,  and  wielding  such  an  influ- 
ence for  good  upon  his  fellow-creatures,  had  been 
granted  him. 

Imitators  arose,  of  course,  but  they  did  little  to  tar- 
nish his  reputation ;  for,  as  Haldiman  had  said,  there 
was  only  one  Barney,  and  it  is  never  given  to  two 
men  in  any  one  generation  to  paint  as  badly  as  Barney 
did.  Art-critics  scored  the  imitators  mercilessly,  and 
were  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  if  Barnard  Hope  had 
not  lived  such  and  such  a  picture  would  not  have  been 
painted, — which  statement  was  probably  quite  true. 

Barney's  people  were  naturally  very  proud  of  him. 
His  father  had  always  admired  him  with  the  intense 
admiration  which  a  very  little  man  has  for  a  very  big 
relative ;  his  mother  referred  to  him  as,  "  My  son,  Bar- 
nard Hope,  the  celebrated  painter." 

To  all  appearances  Barney  was  a  man  greatly  to  be 
envied,  but,  alas !  how  little  does  the  public  know  the 
inner  life  of  even  its  greatest  favourite  !  All  may  be 
fair  to  outward  view,  while  within  sits  brooding  care. 
Barney  had  a  secret  trouble  which  he  confided  to  no 
one,  and  it  caused  him  serious  mental  dissatisfaction. 
He  had  told  Edna  Sartwell  that  she  had  blighted  his 
life,  and  he  fully  believed  this  at  the  time  he  made  the 
gloomy  statement.  He  sombrely  pictured  himself  in 
the  future  as  a  disappointed  man — successful,  perhaps, 
but  cynically  bitter  with  existence,  living  the  life  of  a 
recluse,  and  cherishing  his  broken  heart.  As  the  vic- 
tim of  a  hopeless  passion,  he  pitied  himself,  and  yet 
took  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  ruminating  over  the 
wreck  of  what  might  have  been  a  joyful  career.  To 
his  dismay  he  found  it  impossible  to  live  up  to  his  ideal. 
The  forced  laugh  ;  the  pessimistic  smile  ;  the  dark  man- 
tie  of  a  great  reserve  which  he  hoped  to  fold  around 
himself,  did  not  come  natural  to  him,  and  he  was  con- 


m  I 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


297 


id  to  live 
L^  of  these 
i  he  read 
le  gift  of 
t  an  influ- 
had   been 

tie  to  tar- 
iaid,  there 
:n  to  two 
as  Barney 
iessly,  and 
Hope  had 
have  been 
ite  true. 
Lid  of  him. 
;he  intense 
a  very  big 
y  son,  Bar- 

jatly  to  be 
know  the 
Ul  may  be 
Dding  care, 
ded  to  no 
itisfaction. 
ighted  his 
made  the 
himself  in 
1,  perhaps, 
lie  life  of  a 
s  the  vic- 
If,  and  yet 
over  the 
.  reer.     To 
lo  his  ideal, 
dark  man- 
Id  around 
le  was  con- 


tinually backsliding  into  being  his  own  hilarious  bois- 
terous self,  and  having  a  good  time,  when  he  should 
have  been  moping  alone  over  an  aching  void.  Above 
all  things  he  expected  himself  to  forswear  ladies'  soci- 
ety, and  never  again  indulge  in  the  light,  flippant,  and 
complimentary  talk  in  which  he  had  been  an  acknow- 
ledged master ;  but  it  grieved  him  to  discover  that  he 
still  took  a  keen  delight  in  their  presence,  while  they, 
poor  dears!  unblushingly  adored  Barney  as  they  had 
always  done.  His  arrival  in  any  room  immediately 
brightened  the  occasion,  and  he  was  by  all  odds  the 
most  popular  young  man  in  his  set.  His  failure  in  the 
tragic  role  he  had  marked  out  for  himself  at  first  wor- 
ried Barney,  and  led  him  to  suspect  that  he  was  not 
so  deep  as  he  had  imagined ;  but  this  disquieting 
thought  gave  way  under  his  ultimate  realization  that 
the  taciturn  recluse  of  fiction  and  the  drama  was 
merely  a  melancholy  humbug  who  did  not  exist  in 
real  life.  This  comforting  discovery  did  much  to 
place  Barney  once  more  on  good  terms  with  himself, 
and  by-and-by  he  abandoned  the  attempt  to  pose  as 
a  stricken  victim  of  woman's  inappreciation,  and  was 
once  more  the  genial  host  and  the  welcome  guest. 

As  time  went  on,  and  his  fame  continued  to  spread, 
he  fell  more  and  more  under  the  gentle  influence  of 
Lady  Mary  Fanshaw,  who  was  a  modest,  refined,  and 
altogether  charming  irl.  She  had  an  unbounded 
admiration  for  Barney's  strength  and  manliness  ;  and 
his  many  deeds  of  kindness  and  lavish  generosity, 
which  he  himself  was  at  no  particular  pains  to  conceal, 
won  her  deep  regard.  She  did  not  pretend  to  under- 
stand his  paintings,  but  was  quite  willing  to  believe 
what  appeared  to  be  the  universal  estimate,  that;  they 
were  works  of  the  very  highest  genius. 

In  the  company  of  Lady  Mary,  Barney's  heroic  de- 
termination to  lead  a  monastic  life  became  fainter  and 
fainter.  When  Barney  saw  whither  he  was  drifting, 
he  held  a  serious  consultation  with  himself.  Six 
months  had  elapsed  since  the  episode  at  Eastbourne, 


1 


298 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


l-.f  H^ 

^^^H 

f'1  UM 

I    ) 

h^  -:^^m 

H  ■■ 

y^&i  : 

and  this  half  year  had  been  the  most  fateful  in  his 
whole  existence.  Even  though  there  was  a  lingering 
disappointment  over  the  now  self-admitted  fact  that 
his  life  had  not  been  wrecked,  yet  he  felt  he  owed  it 
to  his  dignity  not  to  propose  to  Lady  Mary  until  a 
year  at  least  had  intervened  between  the  two  matri- 
monial excursions.  To  propose  sooner  would  be  to 
admit  that  he  did  not  know  his  own  mind — and  he 
particularly  prided  himself  on.  his  strength  of  mind. 
An  action  that  is  indecent  haste  in  six  months  may  be 
the  epitome  of  calm  deliberation  in  twelve.  Instances 
are  on  record  where  a  man's  most  cherished  political 
convict'ons  have  changed  completely  within  a  year, 
and  a  grateful  country  has  testified  its  appreciation  of 
the  honesty  of  the  transformation  by  bestowing  a 
peerage  or  a  knighthood  upon  the  man.  Why,  then, 
should  not  a  great  painter  be  deeply  in  love  with  two 
charming  girls,  if  a  reasonable  interval  separated  the 
declarations  of  affection  ?  Barney  said  to  himself 
that  it  was  undoubtedly  wrong  to  be  in  love  with  two 
or  more  at  the  same  time,  and  he  had  to  admit  that 
in  former  days  he  had  come  dangerously  near  that 
complicated  condition ;  but  he  was  young  at  the  time, 
and  youth  is  an  excuse  which  covers  a  multitude  of  er- 
rors. -  "  This  day  six  months,"  said  Barney,  definitely, 
**  I  shall  ask  Lady  Mary  to  be  my  wife."  Having  thus 
reached  finality  in  his  meditations,  he  felt  that  sense 
of  satisfaction  which  a  man  always  experiences  when 
a  perplexing  problem  is  authoritatively  settled  one 
way  or  another.  Nothing  is  so  demoralizing  as  inde- 
cision. Hitherto  he  had  been  almost  afraid  to  meet 
Lady  Mary,  much  as  he  delighted  in  her  companion- 
ship ;  but  now  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  hold 
aloof  from  her.  Therefore,  having  written  down  the 
date  on  which  the  momentous  proposal  was  to  take 
place,  he  arose  with  a  joyful  exuberance  of  spirits, 
and  resolved  to  celebrate  his  decision  by  driving  down 
to  the  pretty  Surrey  village  near  which  Lady  Mary's 
father   lived.     The  tandem  was  a  thing  of   the  past. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


299 


ul  in  his 
lingering 
fact  that 
e  owed  it 
y  until  a 
wo  matri- 
uld  be  to 
, — and   he 
of  mind, 
hs  may  be 
Instances 
d  political 
lin  a  year, 
eciation  of 
istovving   a 
Why,  then, 
e  with  two 
)arated  the 
to   himself 
rt  with  two 
admit  that 
near   that 
.t  the  time, 
itude  of  er- 
,  definitely, 
aving  thus 
that  sense 
nces  when 
ettled   one 
ng  as  indc- 
id  to  meet 
[companion- 
should  hold 
down  the 
/as  to  take 
of   spirits, 
Iriving  down 
lady  Mary's 
"f   the  past. 


He  found  ^hat  the  sight  of  it  brought  up  painful  recol- 
lections of  Eastbourne  ;  so  he  sold  it,  and  acquired  a 
most  stylish  four-wheeled  vehicle  which  he  called  his 
*'  growler,"  drawn  by  two  spirited  black  horses.  He 
spoke  to  his  friends  apologetically  about  his  growler, 
and  said  it  gave  no  particular  scope  for  a  man's  driv- 
ing powers,  but  would  serve  until  the  coach  which  he 
had  ordered  from  the  most  noted  builders  in  London 
was  finished.  A  four-in-hand,  he  held,  was  the  only 
thing  a  man  could  drive  with  credit  to  himself  and  sat- 
isfaction to  all  beholders.  So  with  the  black  span 
dancing  before  him,  held  by  a  firm  hand,  he  rattled 
across  Chelsea  bridge  and  made  for  the  interior  of 
Surrey. 


"i 


If*^ 


fe 


1 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  on  a  beautiful  day  to  drive 
through  Surrey  lanes,  with  a  fine  pair  of  horses  in 
front  and  a  liveried  menial  with  folded  arms  on  the 
seat  behind.  Barney,  who  knew  the  country  well, 
chose  the  by-roads  rather  than  the  main  thoroughfares ; 
for  he  had  a  keen  love  of  nature  and  an  appreciation 
of  landscape,  as  became  a  man  who  had  placed  on 
canvas  so  many  amazing  reproductions  of  natural 
scenery. 

As  he  neared  his  destination  he  turned  into  the 
particular  lane  which  he  knew  to  be  Lady  Mary's 
favourite  walk,  and  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out  ahead, 
hoping  to  descry  the  girl  in  the  distance.  He  also 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  slowed  the  horses  when  he 
saw  he  had  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  lane  somewhat 
in  advance  of  the  time  he  had  set  for  himself.  Barney 
was  above  all  things  a  practical  man,  and  he  knew 
that,  outside  the  drama,  coincidences  rarely  h?ppened 
unless  they  were  touched  up  a  bit ;  so  before  leaving 
Chelsea  he  took  the  precaution  to  telegraph  Lady 
Mary,  telling  her  that  at  a  certain  hour  he  would  be 
at  the  head  of  the  lane,  and  that  if  he  met  there  any 
one  who  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  who  would  ex-  j 
tend  to  him  a  cordial  invitation  to  visit  a  certain  coun-  t 
try  house,  he  would  accept  with  all  the  heartfelt  grati- 
tude of  a  homeless  man  perambulating  the  country 
with  two  houses  and  a  wagon.  It  was  one  of  Barney's 
habits  rarely  to  write  a  letter,  and  to  depend  almost 
entirely  on  tL  j  telegraph  as  a  means  of  communica- 
tion with  his  fellows.  He  delighted  in  sending  a 
friend  a  ten-page  telegram  on  some  perfectly  trivial 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


301 


y  to  drive 

horses  in 
Tis  on  the 
ntry  well, 
oughfares ; 
Dpreciation 

placed  on 
of    natural 

d  into  the 
ady  Mary's 
-out  ahead, 
:.     He  also 
es  when  he 
2  somewhat 
f.     Barney 
d  he   knew 
y  h?;^pened 
ore  leaving 
rraph  Lady 
e  would  be 
t  there  any 
,  would  ex- 
ertain  coun- 
rtfelt  grati- 
he  country 
of  Barney's 
end  almost 
Icommunica- 
i    sending  a 
ectly  trivial 


subject,  and  to  the  numerous  people  all  over  the  coun- 
try who  now  wrote  to  him  asking  for  his  autograph, 
he  invariably  sent  it  in  a  long  telegram,  explaining  in 
the  message  that,  as  he  never  wrote  letters,  any  signa- 
ture of  his  at  the  end  of  an  epistle  was  sure  to  be  a 
forge. y,  and  no  autographs  were  genuine  unless  they 
came  by  wire.  Barney's  electrical  autographs  now 
bring  good  prices  at  aucti*  a  sales. 

As  he  entered  the  lane,  then,  he  looked  ahead  for 
the  fulfilment  of  the  coincidence  he  had  arranged  ; 
and  was  presently  rewarded  by  seeing  the  fine  figure 
of  the  girl  coming  towards  him,  an  ebony  stick  in  her 
hand,  and  three  big  dogs  following  her.  Barney  threw 
the  reins  to  his  man,  told  him  to  drive  on,  and  sprang 
down. 

The  girl's  cheeks  were  as  rosy  as  the  dawn,  either 
with  the  exercise  in  the  pure  air  or  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  him. 

After  greeting  her,  he  cried  : 

"  You  got  my  telegram,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Have  you  any  money  left  after  sending  it  ?  ** 

"  Oh,  I'm  in  funds  to-day.  I  sold  a  picture  for  a 
thousand  pounds  yesterday  to  a  Chicago  man.  They 
know  how  to  buy,  those  Western  fellows !  He  took 
one  of  th  burnt-umber  night  scenes,  made  me  sign 
my  name  on  it  in  scarlet  with  letters  three  inches  long, 
and  then  told  me  with  a  chuckle,  after  it  was  done,  that 
he  would  have  given  a  couple  of  hundred  extra  for  the 
signature  if  I  had  held  out.  Thus  are  we  poor  artists 
imposed  upon  !  Still,  the  scarlet  lettering  completely 
killed  the  half-tones  in  the  painting,  and  ruined  it,  in 
my  opinion  ;  but  he  said  it  was  the  signature  he 
ivanted,  so  we  are  both  satisfied.  He  was  a  perfectly 
frank  heathen  :  said  he  could  buy  better  paintings  in 
Chicago  for  five  dollars  each,  with  a  discount  off  if  he 
took  a  quantity,  but  that  people  over  there  wouldn't 
have  the  work  of  the  native  artists  at  any  price.  He 
proudly  claimed  to  know  nothing  about  art  himself — 
tinned  goods  was  his  line.      I   said  I  supposed   that 


r^T 


mm 


n 


302 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


li.' 


2.V 


.^ 


was  all  right  as  long  as  the  goods  brought  in  the  tin, 
and  he  replied  that  that  was  what  he  was  after." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  congratulate  you.** 

"Me?  Now,  Lady  Mary,  I  call  that  hard  lines.  I 
thought  you  were  a  friend  of  mine — I  did,  indeed.'* 

"  I  am.  May  I  not  congratulate  you  on  selling  a 
picture?" 

"No,  your  ladyship;  no,  m'um!  But  you  might 
congratulate  the  Chicago  man.  I  feel  that  he  did  me 
out  of  two  hundred.  Oh,  he's  got  a  bargain,  and  he 
knows  it !  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  pictures  are  get- 
ting so  expensive  that  I  am  beginning  to  realize  it  is 
reckless  extravagance  for  me  to  have  so  many  of  them 
hanging  in  my  studio.  It  looks  like  ostentation,  and 
I  hate  that.  That's  why  I  took  the  thousand,  merely 
to  get  rid  of  it." 

"  Did  it  take  you  long  to  paint  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  good  while.  Of  course  I  can't  tell  just  how 
long,  for  one  does  not  do  a  masterpiece  like  that  right 
off  the  reel,  don't  you  know.  I  suppose  I  must  have 
spent  as  much  as  six  hours  on  it,  off  and  on.  You 
see  you  have  to  wait  until  the  groundwork  dries  be- 
fore you  can  go  on  with  the  rest.  I  first,  with  a  big 
brush,  covered  the  whole  of  the  canvas  with  burnt- 
umber,  and  then  let  it  dry.  That's  night,  as  it  would 
appear  if  there  were  no  lights  anywhere.  Then  you 
put  in  your  high  lights — little  dabs  of  white  paint. 
That  seems  easy,  but  I  tell  you  it  requires  genius. 
Then,  if  there  is  water,  even  though  unseen  to  the 
general  eye,  you  put  in  little  wabbly  lines  of  grey 
paint  under  the  dots  of  high  light,  and  there  you  are, 
don't  you  know.  It  all  seems  simple  enough  to  talk 
about,  and  plenty  of  fellows  are  trying  it,  now  I  have 
shown  them  the  way;  but  somehow  they  don't  hit  it 
off,  don't  you  know.  But  sink  the  shop  in  a  Surrey 
lane  ;  I  hate  talking  shop,  anyhow  !  Now,  am  I  going 
to  get  my  invitation,  or  am  I  not  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  are.  My  father  is  most  anxious  to 
meet  you." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


303 


nxious  to 


"  That's  very  nice  of  liim.  But,  I  say,  Lady 
Mary " 

The  young  man  stopped  suddenly,  and  the  girl 
looked  up  at  him.  She  read  in  his  eyes  such  honest, 
undisguised  admiration  of  herself,  that  she  dropped 
her  own  and  blushed  still  more  rosily. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  "Have  you  forgotten 
something?" 

**  No,"  he  said  eagerly,  taking  the  unresisting  fin- 
gers of  her  two  hands  in  his,  as  they  stood  there. 
**  No,  I  have  just  remembered.  I  ought  to  have 
something  to  say   to   your  father,  don't   you    know. 

We  can't  talk  about  painting,  and well,  Mary,  we 

should  have  some  topic  of  vital  interest  to  us  both  to 
discuss,  shouldn't  we?" 

The  girl  laughed  a  little,  but  did  not  reply.  The 
three  dogs  stood  some  distance  off,  regarding  the  pair 
with  suspicion ;  and  a  low  growl  from  one  of  them  in- 
dicated that  the  situation  was  unusual  and  must  not 
be  carried  too  far. 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  him,  Mary?"  cried  the  young 
man,  with  a  tender  thrill  in  his  deep  voice.  *'  May  I 
tell  him  I  care  more  for  his  daughter  than  for  any  one 
else  in  the  world  ?     May  I  ?  " 

The  girl  made  no  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hands, 
nor  did  she  do  more  than  give  him  one  swift,  brief 
glance. 

"  If  it  is  true,"  she  murmured,  "  I  see  no  reason  why 
you  should  not  tell  him  so." 

"  True  !  "  cried  Barney,  fervently.  "  There's  noth- 
ing on  earth  so  true,  Mary,  my  darling,  as  that  I  love 
you  !  And  do  you — do  you  care  in  the  least  for  a  big 
blundering  fellow  like  me?  " 

"  Always,  always !  "  said  Lady  Mary.  "  Ever  since 
I  first  met  you.  And  long  before  the  world  recog- 
nized your  genius,  Barney,  I  did." 

The  jubilant  young  man,  suddenly  abandoning  the 
hands  that  were  thus  promised  him,  clasped  the  girl 
to  him  and  kissed  her.     It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that 


304 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


^'!^ 


«4;'*' 


M>d 


a  man  often  attains  celebrity  for  doing  something 
that  hundreds  of  others  do  better,  while  the  world 
remains  ignorant  of  perfor  lances  that  are  really 
entitled  to  fame.  As  Barney  threw  one  arm  around 
Lady  Mary's  waist,  he  saw,  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  the  big  dog  spring  at  his  throat.  Yet  the  young 
man  kissed  the  girl  as  tenderly  and  as  gently  as  if 
nothing  particular  were  happening  on  the  other  side 
of  him ;  and  Lady  Mary,  closing  her  eyes  for  the 
moment,  rested  her  head  against  his  breast  and 
breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  contentment.  She  was 
awakened  from  her  momentary  dream  by  savage, 
mouthing  grovvls,  and,  remembering  the  dogs,  jumped 
back  in  alarm.  With  rigid  muscles  Barney  held  at 
arm's  length,  his  strong  hand  grasping  the  collar,  a 
brute  only  slightly  smaller  than  a  pony,  whose  angry 
fangs  were  tearing  at  his  coat-sleeve.  The  other  two 
dogs  looked  on,  snarling,  but  apparently  waiting  for 
their  mistress  to  give  the  word  of  attack.  The  girl 
shrieked  at  the  sight. 

"  Down,  Nero,  down  !  "  she  cried.  "  How  dare  you, 
sir! 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  Barney,  nonchalantly. 
**  Don't  scold  him.  'Tis  his  nature  to,  don't  you 
know.  He'll  find  out  two  things  in  about  a  minute: 
first,  and  most  important,  that  I'm  going  to  be  one  of 
the  family  ;  and  second,  that  he's  met  his  match.  I 
say,  Mary,  this  wouldn't  be  a  bad  scene  for  the 
Aquarium,  don't  you  know, — Sampson  defying  the 
lightning,  or  was  it  Ajax  ?  I  never  can  remember 
those  classical  allusions." 

*'  Down,  sir !  "  commanded  the  girl.  **  Come  here 
and  apologize !  " 

Barney  relaxed  his  grasp  on  the  collar,  and  the 
huge  dog  cringed  up  to  Lady  Mary  with  a  most  crest- 
fallen air.  It  was  evident  that,  although  he  deferred 
to  his  mistress's  authority,  he  was  still  unshaken  in 
his  opinion  that  such  goings  on  as  he  had  just  beheld 
were  entirely  out  of  order;  and  although  he  humbly 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


305 


nething 
e  world 
I   really 

around 
r  of  his 
e  young 
;ly  as  if 
:her  side 

for  the 
ast  and 
3he    was 

savage, 
,  jumped 
/  held  at 

collar,  a 
)se  angry 
)ther  two 
aiting  for 

The  girl 

dare  you, 

:halantly. 
lon't  you 
minute : 
Ibe  one  of 
latch.  I 
for  the 
:ying  the 
•emember 

lome  here 

and  the 
lost  crest- 
deferred 
ihaken  in 
ist  beheld 
humbly 


licked  the  girl's  hand,  he  cast  side  looks  at  Barney 
that  were  anything  but  friendly,  yet  the  truculent 
glance  was  mitigated  by  that  respect  for  proven 
strength  which  one  strong  animal  feels  when  he  meets 
a  stronger.  The  girl,  crouching,  patted  his  shaggy 
coat,  and,  alternately  scolding  and  petting  him,  ex- 
plained the  situation  as  well  as  she  could,  beseeching 
Nero  to  treat  Barney  as  a  brother. 

When  she  stood  up  again — blessed  are  the  peace- 
makers ! — Barney  said  : 

"  Let's  see  if  he  understands?" 

"  Now,  Barney,"  cried  the  girl,  "  you  must  behave 
yourself !  You  can't  tell  who  might  come  into  view 
any  moment." 

"  We'll  risk  the  chance  comer — purely  for  the  dog's 
benefit,  you  know,  Mary." 

The  big  dog  made  no  move  this  time;  but  his 
angry  eye  lighted  up  with  a  dangerous  lurid  gleam, 
and  the  corners  of  his  heavy  lips  quivered,  showing 
the  teeth. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  case  of  pure  jealousy,"  said  Barney. 
"  I  can  see  that.     Nero  and  I  never  can  be  friends." 

They  walked  together  slowly  along  the  lane,  the 
dogs  in  front.  Nero  seemed  exceedingly  dejected, 
and  strode  with  offended  dignity,  taking  little  notice 
of  the  other  two  dogs ;  who,  with  a  levity  that  met 
his  sullen  disapproval,  indicated  now  and  then  by 
deep,  low  growls  of  rebuke,  futilely  chased  imaginary 
rabbits  by  the  hedge-rows,  tumbling  over  each  other 
in  their  frivolous,  headlong  career. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mary,  I  think  we  should  join  hands 
and  swing  our  arms  as  we  walk  along.  I  want  to 
shout  and  whoop  like  a  red  Indian — and  yet  calm 
reflection  tells  me  it  isn't  good  form.  I  believe  I'm 
hopelessly  plebeian,  and  yearn  for  a  Whitechapel  ex- 
pression of  my  happiness.  If  I  weren't  afiaid  of  the 
dog — that  is,  morally  afraid,  for  I  can  throttle  him 
physically — I'd  pull  the  pin  out  of  that  most  fetching 
hat  of  yours,  and  put  the  hat  on  my  own  head,  giving 


'.\J!    ? 


1--1 


(I 


Jf!,!il|S 


^m   "^^^^^^^ 


I 


306 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


t.^- 


^iii 


II' 


you  mine.  Actually,  I'd  like  to  dance,  don*t  you 
know ! " 

The  girl  laughed. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  a  dance  myself,"  she  said. 

**  Oh,  then  it's  all  right !  I  was  beginning  to  fear  I 
had  a  costermonger  for  my  ancestor  ;  but,  if  you're  not 
shocked,  I  may,  for  all  I  know,  be  descended  from  the 
Conqueror." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  shout,  do  it  now  ;  for  I  want 
you  to  be  very  circumspect  and  proper  when  we  walk 
up  the  avenue." 

Barney  did  not  shout,  but  he  placed  his  arm  around 

her,  and and  felt  it  was  most  delightful  to  be  thus 

taken  in  charge  and  told  how  to  behave. 


I 


m 


m 


)n  t  you 


i. 

to  fear  I 
ou're  not 
from  the 

or  I  want 
1  we  walk 

•m  around 
:o  be  thus 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

It  was  Barney's  habit,  now  that  money  flowed  in 
upon  him,  to  deal  liberally  with  his  cabmen.  He 
would  hand  to  the  man  two  or  three  sovereigns,  or 
even  a  five-pound  note  if  there  happened  to  be  one 
loose  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  say  to  him  : 

"  Now  I  may  need  you  only  twenty  minutes,  or  I  may 
need  you  all  the  afternoon ;  but  I  want  you  to  feel 
happy  while  you're  driving  me,  don't  you  know,  so 
here's  all  I'm  going  to  give  you,  and  I  wish  to  have 
no  dispute  about  fares  at  the  end  of  the  journey." 

There  never  was  any  dispute,  and  Barney  was  ex- 
tremely popular  with  the  driving  fraternity. 

When  the  date  of  the  wedding  was  fixed,  Barney, 
on  his  return  to  London,  took  a  cab  at  ten  pounds  in 
honour  of  the  forthcoming  event.  He  said  to  himself 
that  he  couldn't  give  less  and  retain  his  self-respect, 
as  he  intended  using  the  cab  in  completing  the  neces- 
sary arrangements  for  the  ceremony.  He  drove  first 
to  the  residence  of  the  clergyman  who  was  in  charge 
of  St.  Martyrs-in-the-East ;  for  he  had  determined  that 
the  marriage  should  take  place  in  this  church,  because 
it  was  the  nearest  sacred  building  to  his  father's 
works  and  was  surrounded  by  a  population  largely  in 
the  employ  of  the  firm,  directly  or  indirectly.  Besides 
this,  Barney  took  a  particular  delight  in  the  thought 
that  all  the  newspapers  would  be  compelled  to  send 
representatives  to  this  unfashionable  locality ;  for  the 
wedding  would  be  a  notable  one,  and  he  was  now  so 
famous  that  should  he  marry  or  die  in  the  most  un- 
known spot  in  the  British  Isles,  his  doing  so  would 
forever  bestow  distinction  on  the  plaqe. 


■i    it 


308 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


f)) 


h' 


H 


m 


^H 


^  '4' 


<K, 


i 


The  genial  old  clergyman  was  undeniably  impressed 
by  the  fact  that  so  celebrated  a  man  chose  St.  Martyrs 
for  such  an  important  ceremony. 

*'  Of  course,"  said  Barney,  airily,  "  I  shall  have  a 
bishop  or  two  to  assist  you,  and  perhaps  a  few  lesser 
dignitaries.  If  you  will  just  give  me  the  names  of  any 
you  prefer,  I  shall  put  myself  into  communication 
with  them." 

"  You  mean  that  I  shall  assist  the  bishop,"  pro- 
tested the  reverend  gentleman,  mildly.  **  His  Lord- 
ship, as  of  course  you  know,  takes  precedence." 

"  Oh,  well,  you'll  arrange  all  that  among  yo"rselves. 
I  don't  understand  these  matters,  you  knov.  I  was 
never  married  before,  and  I  leave  every  detail  in  the 
hands  of  those  experienced.  What  I  wish  is  to  have 
everything  well  done,  regardless  of  expense.  If  you 
will  allow  me  I  would  like  to  send  you  a  cheque  for  a 
thousand  pounds,  to  be  distributed  among  the  poor, 
don't  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  in  honour  of 
the  occasion.     I  suppose  it  can  be  managed." 

**  We  shall  be  very  grateful  indeed  for  it.  A  ple- 
thora of  money  has  never  been  one  of  the  obstacles 
with  which  we  have  had  to  contend  in  this  parish." 

"Then  that's  all  right.  Now,  have  you  seen  your 
organist  lately?  What's  his  name?  It  has  slipped 
my  memory  for  the  moment." 

"  Langly.  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  has  not  been  at  all 
well  lately.  Not  ill,  exactly,  for  he  has  been  able  to 
attend  to  his  duties,  but  still  far  from  well.  I  think 
he  needs  some  one  to  look  after  him.  He  is  an 
absent-minded  man — a  dreamer — and  I  fear  he  ne- 
glects himself." 

"  I  have  tried  to  help  him,"  said  Barney;  "but  he 
shrinks  from  assistance  of  any  kind  as  if  it  were  infec- 
tious. He  never  will  call  on  me,  and  I  have  had  so 
many  demands  on  my  time  lately  that  I  have  not 
looked  him  up,  as  I  intended  to  do.  Could  you  give 
me  his  address?     I  had  it  once,  but  I've  n'slaid  it." 

"  He  lives  in  wretched  quarters — No.  3  Rose  Gar- 


}*■ 


THE  MUTARLE  MANY. 


309 


den  Court,  off  Light  Street.  I  don't  think  he  would 
like  you  to  call  upon  him.  It  would  be  better  to 
write.  It  is  very  difficult  to  do  anything  for  him,  as 
you  say,  except  indirectly.  When  I  visited  him,  on 
hearing  he  was  not  well,  I  could  see  that  my  presence 
discomposed  him." 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you  about  helping  him  in- 
directly.    You  all  appreciate  his  abilities,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"And  yet,  as  you  say,  you  are  not  a  rich  parish. 
Now  here  is  a  cheque  for  a  hundred  pounds.  I  would 
make  it  more,  but  that  would  arouse  his  suspicions, 
very  likely.  Would  you  take  this,  and  increase  his 
salary  by  that  much  yearly? — I  will  send  a  similar 
cheque  once  a  year — and  put  it  to  him  that  the  in- 
crease is  because  of  the  general  admiration  there  is  felt 
for — well,  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  So  that  he  will 
be  encouraged,  don't  you  know." 

**  It  is  very  generous  of  you,  Mr.  Hope,  and  I  shall 
see  that  your  wishes  are  carried  out." 

When  the  interview  with  the  kindly  vicar  was  fin- 
ished, Barney  jumped  into  his  hansom  and  drove  to 
Light  Street.  It  was  impossible  to  take  the  cab  into 
Rose  Garden  Court ;  so  Barney,  securing  as  a  guide 
one  of  the  numerous  ragged  urchins  who  thronged  the 
place,  made  his  way  up  the  rickety  stairs  and  knocked 
at  Langly's  door.  A  faint  voice  from  within  told  him 
to  enter,  and  on  going  in  Barney  saw  the  organist  sit- 
ting on  the  bed.  Langly  had  evidently  been  lying 
down,  and  now,  with  noticeable  difficulty,  sat  up  to 
greet  his  unexpected  visitor.  Thin  as  he  had  been 
when  Barney  saw  him  last,  he  was  still  thinner  now, 
and  a  ghastly  pallour  overspread  his  face. 

*'  I  say,  old  man  !  "  cried  Barney,  stopping  short. 
"  You're  not  looking  first-rate,  don't  you  know.  Have 
you  been  ill?  " 

**  I've  not  been  well,  but  I'm  better  now,  thank 
you,"  replied  Langly,  a  shadow  that  would  have  been 
a  flush  in    a  healthy  man   coming  over  his  cheeks. 


310 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


41^1 


>.. 


Clearly  he  did  not  like  the  intrusion  ;  and  Barney,  re- 
membering the  vicar's  words,  saw  that. 

**  Now,  Langly,"  he  said,  **  you  mustn't  mind  my 
coming  in  this  unceremonious  way,  because  I'm  here 
to  beg  a  great  favour  of  you.  I'm  the  most  dependent 
man  on  my  friends  that  there  is  in  all  London — I  am, 
for  a  fact.  It  seems  to  me  I  spend  all  my  time  get- 
ting other  fellows  to  do  things  for  me,  and  they  do 
them  too,  by  Jove  !  in  the  most  kindly  way.  This  is  a 
very  accommodating,  indulgent  world,  don't  you 
know.  Now  you  just  lie  down  again — 1  see  I've  dis- 
turbed you — I'm  always  disturbing  somebody — and 
let  me  talk  to  you  like  a  favourite  uncle.  I'm  going 
to  be  married,  Langly  ! — what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
And  I'll  bet  you  a  sixpence  you  can't  tell  where." 

Langly,  who  still  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  ignor- 
ing Barney's  command,  smiled  wanly  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  knew  you  couldn't.  Well,  the  ceremony  is  to  be 
performed  with  great  /c/at,  as  the  papers  say,  at  St. 
Martyrs-in-the-East.  First  time  old  St.  Marts  has 
ever  seen  a  fashionable  wedding,  I  venture  to  say.  I 
have  just  been  to  see  the  vicar,  arranging  all  the  de- 
tails. What  a  nice  old  man  he  is  ! — and  I  say,  Langly, 
you  ought  to  have  heard  him  praise  you  and  your 
music  !  It's  very  pleasing  to  be  appreciated, — I  like 
it  myself." 

Langly,  in  spite  of  his  pallour,  actually  blushed  at 
this,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Now,  that  brings  us  to  the  music  on  the  wedding- 
day — and  that's  why  I'm  here.  You  will  play  the 
organ,  of  course." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,"  murmured  Langly. 

"  There  is  nothing  better  than  that.  But  here  is 
what  I  want,  and  I  know  it's  a  great  favour  I'm  ask- 
ing. I  want  you  to  compose  a  wedding  march  for  us. 
I'll  have  it  published  afterwards,  and  I  know,  when 
you  see  the  bride,  you  won't  need  any  begging  from 
me  to  get  you  to  dedicate  it  to  her." 


.)Mi: 


THE  R.UTABLE  MANY. 


311 


arney,  re- 
mind my 

I'm  here 
lependent 
on — I  am, 
•  time  get- 
d  they  do 

This  is  a 
lon't  you 
;e  I've  dis- 
body— and 
I'm  going 
ik  of  that  ? 
/here." 
bed,  ignor- 
.  shook  his 

3ny  is  to  be 
,  say,  at  St. 
I  Marts    has 
I  to  say.     I 
all  the  de- 
ay,  Langly, 
u  and  your 
ted,— I  like 

blushed  at 

le  wedding- 
[ill  play  the 


JBut  here  is 

3ur  I'm  ask- 

jiarch  for  us. 

|know,  when 

egging  froni 


"  I'm  afraid- 


— "  began  the  organist. 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not,"  interrupted  Barney.  "You 
are  such  a  modest  fellow,  Langly,  I  knew  you'd  be 
full  of  excuses  ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  off.  I've 
set  my  heart  on  having  a  special  wedding  march. 
Any  pair  of  fools  can  be  married  to  Mendelssohn, 
don't  you  know ;  but  we  want  something  all  our  own. 
It  isn't  as  if  a  fellow  were  married  every  da;, ,  you 
know." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  feel  hardly  equal 1 

don't  think  I  could  do  justice but  there  is  a  march 

I  composed  about  a  year  ago — it  has  never  been  played 
or  heard  by  any  one  but  myself.     If  you  liked  it " 

"  Of  course  I'll  like  it.  That  will  be  the  very 
thing." 

"  I  would  compose  one  for  you,  but  I  am  sure  I 
could  do  nothing  so  good  as  that,  and  I  want  to  give 
you  my  best." 

"  I'm  sure  you  do.  So  that's  all  settled.  Now, 
Langly,  here  comes  the  uncle  talk.  I  told  you  I 
was  going  to  talk  to  you  like  an  uncle,  you  know. 
You  must  get  out  of  this  hole,  and  you  must  get  oui; 
now.  It's  enough  to  kill  the  strongest  man  to  stay  in 
this  place.  I've  got  a  hansom  waiting  in  the  street , 
so  come  with  me  and  we  will  look  up  a  decent  pair  of 
rooms  with  a  motherly  old  woman  to  look  after  you." 

Langly  was  plainly  embarrassed.  At  last  he  stam- 
mered : 

"  I  can't  afford  a  better  place  than  this.  I  know  it 
may  not  seem  very  comfortable  to  you,  but  it's  all  I 
really  need." 

"  Afford  it !  Of  course  you  can  afford  a  better 
place  !  Oh,  I  had  forgotten.  They  haven't  told  you, 
then  ?  " 

"  Told  me  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  mention  it.  The 
fact  is  (it  all  came  out  quite  incidentally  when  I  was 
talking  to  the  vicar — I  told  you  he  was  saying  nice 
things  about  you  ! ),  I  imagine  they're  preparing  a  little 


.ji 


^m 


r?r^ 


3T2 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


m 


riirprise  for  you  ;  so  never  say  I  spoke  of  it,  but  I  don't 
like  surprises  myself.  I  always  tell  the  boys  that  if 
they've  any  surprises  for  me,  to  let  me  know  in 
advance,  so  that  I  may  prepare  the  proper  expression. 
What  I  don't  like  about  a  surprise  is  to  have  it  sprung 
on  me  without  being  to!d  of  it  beforehand.  Well,  as 
I  said,  I  shouldn't  mention  this;  but  the  churchwardens 
and  the  vicar  and  a  number  of  the  parishioners  have  re- 
solved to  increase  your  salary  by  one  hundred  pounds 
a  year.  I  was  very  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  said  so. 
'  To  show  our  appreciation  of  his  music,'  were  the 
exact  word  >  of  the  vican  Splendid  old  chap,  the 
vicar! — I  like  him." 

Barney  walked  up  and  down  the  room  as  he  talked, 
never  glancing  at  his  listener.  Langly's  eyes  filled  with 
tears  :  he  tried  to  speak,  but  he  could  not.  Then  he 
lay  down  on  the  bed  and  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow. 
His  visitor  chattered  on,  pacing  to  and  fro,  taking  no 
notice  of  the  other's  emotion,  until  Langly,  recovering 
himself,  said,  gratefully  : 

"  It  is  very,  very  good  of  them.  They  have  always 
been  exceedingly  kind  to  me," 

"  Oh,  it's  merely  a  matter  of  business.  They  don't 
want  some  other  church  to  lure  you  away.  Trust  a 
churchwarden !  He's  always  up  to  snuff.  Now, 
Langly,.  you  must  come  with  me.  If  you  resist,  I'll 
pick  you  up  in  my  arms  and  carry  you  down  to  my 
hansom  as  if  you  were  a  baby.  Brace  up,  old  man, 
and  come  along  !  " 

Faintly  protesting,  but  in  his  weakness  making  no 
resistance,  Langly  staggered  down  to  Light  Street, 
leaning  on  Barney's  arm.  In  about  half  an  hour  a 
comfortable  domicile  was  found  near  the  church,  and 
a  porter  was  sent  back  to  Rose  Garden  Court  to  fetch 
the  musician's  belongings. 

The  wedding  ceremony  was  all  that  the  best  friends 
of  the  happy  pair  could  wish.  Never  had  old  St.  Mar- 
tyrs seen  such  a  brilliant  assemblage.    The  splendid 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


313 


Wedding  March  was  a  triumph,  filling  the  resonant 
church  with  its  jubilant,  entrancing  harmonies,  and  it 
was  played  as  no  march  had  ever  been  played  before. 

Barney  stole  a  moment  or  two,  while  friei.ds  were 
pressing  around  the  bride,  and  drew  Betson,  the  chief 
press  man  present,  into  a  corner. 

"Now,  Betson,"  he  said,  "you  heard  that  music." 

*'  It  was  glorious!  "  replied  the  jo'irnalist. 

'*  Of  course  it  was,  and  composed  specially  for  this 
occasion,  remember.  You  maj^  abuse  me  in  the  papers, 
if  you  like,  Betson;  if  there's  anything  wrong — al- 
though I  don't  think  there  is — lay  the  blame  on  me ; 
but  one  thing  I  beg  of  you,  and  please  tell  the  other 
fellows  this,  won't  you  ? — give  a  line  or  two  of  de- 
served praise  to  the  organist  and  the  music.  Do,  if  you 
love  me,  Betson!  The  man's  a  genius! — I'm  not  the 
only  one  who  says  so,  although  I  was  che  first  to 
recognize  the  fact.  You'll  put  in  something  nice  about 
him,  won't  you  ?  and  give  the  others  the  tip  to  do  the 
same." 

"  I'll  go  and  see  him;  then  I  can  do  a  special  article 
on  him." 

"  I  wish  you  would  ;  but  remember  he's  very  shy, 
and  if  he  suspects  your  purpose  you  won't  get  any- 
thing out  of  him.  He's  a  recluse.  Talk  to  him 
about  organs  and  music,  and  let  him  think  you're 
merely  a  fellow-enthusiast." 

"  Never  fear.     I'll  manage  him." 

For  a  week  Langly  had  feared  he  would  not  be 
equal  to  the  ordeal  that  faced  him.  He  was  anxious, 
for  Barney's  sake,  to  acquit  himself  well ;  but  he  was 
scarcely  able  to  totter  to  the  church  and  back  to  his 
rooms,  although,  v  hen  once  seated  before  the  banks  of 
keys,  renewed  life  seemed  to  animate  his  emaciated 
frame ;  but  when  the  enthusiasm  of  playing  passed 
away,  he  was  left  more  deeply  depressed  than  ever. 
Music  was  now  a  stimulant  to  him,  and  the  longer  the 
intoxication  of  sound  lasted,  the  greater  the  reaction 
after. 


314 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


His  whole  frame  trembled  when  he  saw  how  large 
an  ai  'ience  was  to  listen  on  the  wedding-day,  and  he 
prayed  that  strength  might  be  given  him  to  perform 
his  part  flawlessly.  When  at  last  the  supreme 
moment  came,  he  looked  with  breathless  fear  at  his 
shaking  hands  hovering  over  the  keys ;  but  when  he 
touched  them,  he  heard  the  sweet,  pure,  liquid,  low 
notes  come  firm  and  sustained,  like  tones  from  a  mel- 
low flute,  and  his  whole  being  thrilled  when  he  be- 
came conscious  of  the  instantaneous  hush  that  fell  on 
the  vast  assemblage,  as  though  all  had  simultaneously 
ceased  to  breathe,  fearing  to  miss  a  single  golden 
thread  of  melody,  or  the  enchanting  mingling  of  them 
into  the  divinest,  most  subdued  harmony,  as  if  a  choir 
of  nightingales  were  singing  far  off,  almost,  but  not 
quite,  beyond  hearing  distance.  When  the  music, 
swelling  from  its  soft  beginning,  rose  towards  its 
climax,  Langly  knew  he  was  master  of  the  instrument 
as  he  had  never  been  before.  All  fear  left  him,  and  a 
wild  exultation  took  its  place.  It  mattered  nothing 
whether  one  or  a  thousand  listened.  As  he  gazed 
upward,  with  rapt  ecstatic  face,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  sounds  took  the  form  of  an  innumerable  host  of 
angels,  flying  about  the  beetling  cliff  of  pipes  that 
towered  above  him,  and  his  own  soul  floated  there 
also.  Marvelling  at  this  aerial  vision,  he  yet  played 
with  his  almost  miraculous  skill  to  the  end;  and  as  the 
last  notes  died  away  he  saw  the  angels  drop  their 
wings  one  by  one  and  fade  into  the  empty  air.  He 
pushed  ii:  the  stop  that  shut  off  the  bellows  motor, 
and  for  a  n^oment  his  nerveless  fingers  touched  the 
silent  manual  from  which  the  breath  of  life  had  de- 
parted. A  mist  lowered  before  his  eyes,  his  head 
sank  slowly  forvard,  md  Death  pillowed  it  gently  on 
the  soundless  kevs. 


BE 


N  large 
and  he 
)erform 
upreme 
-  at  his 
rhen  he 
Aid,  low 
11  a  mel- 
he  be- 
[  fell  on 
ineously 
golden 
of  them 
f  a  choir 
but  not 
e   music, 
vards    its 
strument 
im,  and  a 
i  nothing 
be    gazed 
him  that 
host  of 
ipes  that 
ted  there 
et  played 
nd  as  the 
rop   their 
air.     He 
s  motor, 
ached  the 
had  de- 
his   head 
gently  on 


CHAPTER   XXXni. 

The  building  erected  on  the  site  of  the  wing  de- 
stroyed by  fire  was  larger  than  the  one  it  replaced, 
and  its  plan  was  so  well  thought  out  that  its  con- 
venience far  excelled  that  of  its  companion  factory, 
and  increased  the  output  of  the  firm  by  a  much 
greater  proportion  than  its  greater  size  seemed  to 
warrant. 

"  All  we  need  now,"  said  Sartwell,  to  little  Mr. 
Hope,  "  is  the  other  wing  to  burn  down ;  then  we 
could  have  a  model  establishment." 

Mr.  Hope  looked  up  at  Sartwell  in  alarm,  as  if  he 
expected  to  see  his  manager  apply  the  torch  to  the 
old  building.  He  never  quite  fathomed  Sartwell's 
somewhat  grim  style  of  humour. 

The  four  houses  that  had  been  leased,  to  form  a 
temporary  annex  to  the  works  during  the  erection  of 
the  new  wing,  were  kept  on,  and  never  in  the  long 
history  of  the  firm  was  so  much  profitable  business 
done,  nor  Svj  large  a  dividend  declared  as  during  the 
months  that  followed  the  completion  of  the  new 
building.  The  firm  had  good  cause  to  be  grateful  to 
its  manager.  Both  Monkton  and  Hope  recognized 
that  their  constantly  increasing  prosperity  was 
due  to  this  resolute,  self-reliant  man,  and  they  re- 
wards him  as  capitalists  usually  reward  those  who 
serve  them  well.  Not  only  was  his  already  large 
salary  increased,  without  any  demand  on  his  part, 
but,  when  the  business  was  formed  into  a  private  com- 
pany, they  allotted  him  a  block  of  stock  of  the  nom- 
inal value  of  a  thousand  pounds,  the  income  from 
which,  should  the  welfare  of  the  company  continue 


■  I 


316 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ml 


m  ;l 


at  its  then  level,  would  be  sufficient  to  make  Sartwell 
independent  for  life ;  and  at  the  first  meeting  of  the 
new  board  he  was  made  managing  director. 

This  meeting  took  place  a  little  more  than  a  year 
after  the  new  wing  had  been  opened,  and  Sartwell, 
addressing  his  fellow-directors,  said  : 

'*  I  am  not  good  at  returning  thanks— by  words  at 
least ;  but,  as  you  know,  I  shall  try  to  make  the  stock 
you  have  given  me  a  good  investment  for  the  new 
company.  It  might  seem,  under  the  circumstances, 
that  I  ought  to  be  well  content ;  yet  human  nature 
is  hard  to  satisfy,  and  I  am  about  to  ask  for  fur- 
ther powers.  I  want  an  understanding  that  I  am  to 
have  a  free  hand  in  case  we  should  have  another 
strike.  I  also  want  the  power  of  increasing  the  wages 
of  the  men — not  to  exceed,  say  ten  per  cent — at 
any  time,  without  the  necessity  of  consulting  the 
board." 

"Why?"  asked  Monkton.  "The  board  can  be 
convened  at  any  moment." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  cannot.  By  your  articles  of 
association  there  must  be  seven  days'  clear  notice,  and 
the  object  of  the  meeting  must  be  stated  when  the 
call  is  made.  Now,  it  may  become  necessary  to  act 
at  once,  and  I  want  the  power  to  do  so." 

"  Surely  there  is  no  danger  of  another  strike,"  said 
Mr.  Hope,  anxiously.  "  The  men  had  such  a  severe 
lesson " 

**  A  lesson  lasts  the  workingman  just  so  long  as  his 
belly  is  empty,  and  rarely  influences  him  after  his  first 
full  meal.  The  Union  is  already  working  up  to  a  de- 
mand for  increased  wages.  Times  are  good,  and  they 
know  it.  We  must  face  an  increase  of  wages,  and  I 
want  that  increase  to  come  voluntarily  from  the  com- 
pany, and  not  under  compulsion.  You  may  depend 
upon  me  to  do  nothing  rash,  but  I  want  the  power  to 
announce  such  increase  at  any  moment." 

The  power  to  act  promptly  was  given  him,  and  he 
was  assured  that,  in  the  event  of  another  strike,  the 


»artwell 
;  of  the 

a  year 
artwell, 

^ords  at 

tie  stock 

the  new 

istances, 

1  nature 
for  fur- 
I  am  to 
another 

he  wages 

cent — at 

[ting   the 

I  can  be 

irticles  of 
tice,  and 
hen  the 

|ry  to  act 

[ike/*  said 
a  severe 

)ng  as  his 
-r  his  first 
[p  to  a  de- 

and  they 

;es,  and  I 

\he  com- 

ly  depend 

power  to 

and  he 
strike,  the 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


317 


whole  strength  of  the  company  would  be  behind  him  ; 
but  he  was  jesought  by  Mr.  Hope  to  avoid  trouble  if 
it  were  possible  to  do  so. 

After  the  meeting  Sartwell  went  down  to  East- 
bourne, and,  with  his  daughter,  took  a  long  walk  on 
the  breezy  downs. 

"  Well,  girlie,"  he  said,  after  telling  her  of  the  firm's 
generos'ty,  "  you  are  an  heiress  now,  on  a  small  scale. 
I  have  made  over  that  thousand  pounds  to  you,  and 
as  it  is  really  worth  ten  thousand,  I  think  it  is  a  good 
deal  of  money  for  a  little  girl  like  you  to  accumulate 
before  she  comes  of  age." 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  accept  it,  father !  "  cried 
Edna.     "  I'll  make  it  all  over  to  you  again." 

"  Then  we  shall  play  battledore  and  shuttlecock 
with  the  stock.  I  generally  have  my  own  way,  Edna, 
so  you  may  as  well  give  in  gracefully  to  the  inevitable. 
Besides,  this  comes  as  a  sort  of  windfall ;  I  didn't 
reckon  on  it,  so  you  don't  leave  me  a  penny  poorer 
than  I  was  a  month  ago.  I've  laid  by  a  bit  of  money 
in  my  time,  and  have  at  last  got  rid  of  a  fear  that  has 
haunted  me  all  my  life — the  fear  of  a  poverty-s-ricken 
old  age.  That's  why  I  draw  such  deep,  satisfying 
breaths  of  this  splendid  air  from  the  sea.  Grey  hair 
came,  Edna,  before  the  goal  was  in  sight,  but  it's  in 
sight  now,  my  girl." 

"I'm  so  glad,  father,"  she  said,  drawing  down  his 
head  and  kissing  him. 

"Then  you  will  take  the  windfall,  Edna?" 

"  I  will  take  it  on  one  condition,  father." 

"And  what  is  the  one  condition?  " 

"That  if  I  ever  do  anything  you  disapprove  of,  you 
will  let  me  give  it  back  to  you." 

The  girl  was  gazing  far  out  at  the  line  where  the 
blue  sky  and  the  bluer  sea  met.  Her  father  glanced 
at  her  sharply  for  a  moment. 

"  Put  into  English,  what  docs  that  mean,  Edna?" 

"You  never  can  tell  what  a  woman  will  do,  you 
know." 


318 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


Pi* 


ill 


I 


IW 


"Granted,  my  dear.  But  you're  not  a  v':>man; 
you're  merely  my  little  girl." 

The  little  girl  sighed. 

"  I  feel  very  mucl'i  grown  up,  and  very  old  some- 
times. 

"  Oh,  we  all  do  at  eighteen.  Wait  till  you're  forty ; 
then  you'll  know  what  real  youth  is.  If  you  were  a 
boy  now,  instead  of  being  a  girl,  you  would  have  seri- 
ous doubts  about  the  existence  of  the  Deity,  and  the 
most  gloomy  ideas  regarding  mankind  generally. 
Why  should  I  disapprove  of  anything  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Mother  always  predicts  that 
our  stubborn  wills  will  cross  some  time,  and " 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  And  false  prophets  shall 
arise.  Don't  let  that  trouble  you,  Edna.  If  our  wills 
become  seriously  opposed,  we  will  come  here  to  the 
downs  and  talk  it  all  over.  I'll  warrant  we'll  hit  on  a 
compromise." 

**  But  suppose  a  compromise  were  not  possible  ?  " 

**  Dear  me,  Edna,  what's  on  your  mind?  You  are 
talking  in  generalities  and  thinking  in  particulars. 
What  is  it,  my  girl  ?  " 

Edna  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,**  she  said  at  last,  "  but 
I  feel  afraid  of  the  future.  It  seems  so  uncertain, 
and  I  should  never  like  anything  to  come  between 
us. 

*'  Nonsense,  Edna.  What  should  come  between  us? 
All  that  is  merely  a  little  touch  of  the  pessimism  of 
youth,  accentuated  by  the  doleful  fact  that  you  are  now 
a  woman  of  independent  means.  Suppose  our  stub- 
born wills  come  into  collision,  as  you  fear,  do  you 
know  what  will  happen  ?  " 

"What?" 

"Well — it's  an  awful  thing  for  a  father  to  say  to  a 
daughter — but  I'll  give  way.  Think  of  that!  What 
a  humiliating  confession  for  me  to  make  ! — a  man  who 
has  refused  to  budge  an  inch  before  the  united  de- 
mands of  some  hundreds  of  men,  backed  by  the  pa- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


319 


i«'  :)man ; 


d  some- 

e  forty ; 
1  were  a 
avc  seri- 
and  the 
merally. 

icts  that 

its   shall 

Dur  wills 

'e  to  the 

hit  on  a 

blc  ?  " 
You  are 
rticulars. 


,t,  "but 
pcertain, 
Ibctwcen 

^een  us? 

Imism  of 
are  now 

|ur  stub- 
do   you 


Isay  to  a 

What 

lan  who 

ited  de- 

the  pa- 


thetic entreaties  of  my  own  employers.  If  that  isn't 
a  victory  for  a  small  girl,  what  is?  " 

"  Oil,  no  !  "  cried  Edna,  her  eyes  quickly  filling.  **  I'll 
give  way — I'll  give  way — even  if  it  breaks  my  heart!  " 

Her  father  stopped  in  his  walk,  and  grasped  her  by 
the  shoulders.  The  girl's  head  drooped,  and  she  put 
one  hand  over  her  eyes, 

"Ah,  Edna,  Edna,  there's  something  at  the  back  of 
all  this;  I  won't  ask  you  what  it  is,  my  pet,  but  some 
day  you'll  tell  me,  periiaps."  ]lc  drcv/  her  to  his 
breast,  and,  pushing  aside  her  hat,  caressed  her  fair 
hair  lovingly.     "  If  your  mother   were  alive,  dearest, 

we well,   there  is  little   use  of    either  grieving   or 

wishing.  We  must  make  the  best  of  things  as  they 
are.  But  don't  bother  about  the  stubborn  wills,  Edna  ; 
we'll  cross  that  bridge  when  we  come  to  it.  You  see, 
we  are  both  competing  to  see  who  shall  give  way  first, 
and  there's  nothing  very  stubborn  about  that.  Now, 
my  girl,  I've  disarranged  that  pretty  hat,  and  a 
stranger  who  didn't  know  might  think  you  had  been 
crying.  This  will  never  do.  Let  us  talk  sensibly,  for 
I  imagine  that  before  long  I'll  have  all  the  fighting  I 
need  to  keep  me  in  form,  without  having  a  con*:est 
with  my  only  daughter." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  father  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  the  usual  ferment  among  the  men. 
They  arc  seething  and  foaming  and  vapouring,  and  I 
feel  it  in  my  bones  that  we  will  have  another  strike 
before  long." 

"Led  by  Mr.  Marsten  ?  " 

"By  him,  of  course.  But  I'll  beat  him!  I'll  crum- 
ple him  up  so  that  he  will  wonder  why  he  ever  started 
the  fight.  It's  a  pity  to  see  him  waste  his  energy  and 
his  brains  in  a  hopeless  struggle.  'le's  clever  and  in- 
defatigable, but  a  visionary  and  an  enthusiast,  and 
when  he  stops  dreaming  of  impossibilities  he  will  be  a 
most  valuable  man." 

"What  impossibilities,  father?"  asked  the  girl,  al- 
most in  a  whisper,  gazing  at  the  ground. 


i«*^' 


320 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I 


"  The  impossibility  of  men  hanging  together  on  any 
one  subject  for  more  than  a  week.  The  impossibility 
of  warding  off  treachery  within  the  ranks.  The  im- 
possibility of  keeping  down  the  jealousy  which  they 
always  feel  towards  a  man  who  is  their  evident  superior 
in  education  and  ability.  However  he  got  them, 
Marsten  has  the  manner  and  instincts  of  a  gentleman. 
The  men  are  not  going  to  stand  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know,  and  they  will  fail  him  when  it  comes  to  a 
pinch," 

"If  you  think  so  well  of  him,  why  don't  you  offer 
him  a  good  position  in  the  works,  and  let  him  turn  his 
ability  towards  helping  you  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  have  guessed  one  of  the  cards 
that  is  up  my  sleeve.  I  intend  to  make  Marsten  my 
assistant  manager — but  not  now.  He  will  be  a  valu- 
able man  when  he  awakes,  but  not  while  he  is  dream- 
ing. He  must  be  taught  his  lesson  first,  and  only 
hard  knocks  can  teach  him  that.  The  boy  thinks  he 
is  going  to  be  a  leader  of  men,  whereas  he  is  merely 
serving  his  apprenticeship  to  become  assistant  mana- 
ger of  Monkton  &  Hope,  Limited." 

"But  suppose  he  succeeds?  Suppose  the  next 
strike  does  not  fail?  The  men  held  together  more 
than  a  week  last  time." 

"  That  was  because  they  were  led  by  a  demagogue 
of  like  calibre  to  themselves.  There  is  a  large  faction 
among  them  who  hate  Marsten,  and  Gibbons  is  their 
leader.  I  have  fought  Gibbons,  beaten  him,  insulted 
him,  trampled  him  under  foot,  yet,  to-day,  Gibbons 
loathes  Marsten  while  he  respects  me,  as  such  a  man 
always  respects  one  who  has  knocked  him  down. 
Now  you  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  have  taken 
Gibbons  into  my  employ,  and  am  giving  him  better 
wages  than  he  has  ever  received  in  his  life  before. 
More  than  that,  when  he  recommends  a  man,  I  pro- 
mote that  man,  and  it  is  getting  to  be  generally  under- 
stood that  Gibbons  has  much  influence  with  the 
manager.     This  strengthens  his  hold  on  his  faction." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


321 


"And  what  will  be  the  result?" 

**  That  we  cannot  tell,  but  it  is  always  good  politics 
to  promote  a  split  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  I  am 
playing  a  game,  and  I  move  the  pawns  about  to  suit 
my  board.  There  is  a  sharp  line  now  cleft  between 
the  two  factions,  and  the  gap  will  widen  as  soon  as  the 
trouble  begins.  Gibbons  will  likely  go  out  with  his 
crowd,  if  a  strike  is  ordered  ;  but  they  will  be  a  source 
of  weakness  rather  than  of  strength  to  Marsten,  and 
the  moment  he  makes  a  false  move — which  he  is  rea- 
sonably certain  to  make,  not  being  infallible — there 
will  be  a  defection." 

"  Have  you  a  secret  understanding  with  Gibbons, 
then  ?  " 

**  Oh,  bless  you,  no  !  One  doesn't  have  a  discussion 
on  moves  with  a  pawn.  The  pawn  produces  certain 
effects  merely  because  it  is  placed  in  a  given  position, 
and  not  through  any  will  of  its  own.  Now  Marsten  is 
quite  well  aware  of  Gibbons's  supposed  influence  with 
me,  and  will  likely  commit  the  error  of  thinking  I  have 
some  arrangement  with  the  ex-secretary.  In  the  heat 
of  a  discussion  he  may  give  voice  to  his  belief,  and  that 
will  be  an  error,  for  no  man  is  so  righteously  indignant 
at  such  a  charge  as  the  virtuous  individual  who  would 
have  sold  himself  if  he  could.  It's  going  to  be  an  in- 
teresting struggle,  Edna." 

"  Poor  Marsten  !  "  sighed  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  Marsten  myself,  but  the  lesson 
will  do  him  a  world  of  good.  He  is  thoroughly  un- 
selfish, and  Gibbons  is  as  thoroughly  selfish.  The 
unselfish  man  almost  invariably  goes  to  the  wall  in 
this  self-seeking  world.  Now  let  us  get  back,  my  girl. 
I  think  your  old  father  has  settled  the  whole  universe 
to  his  satisfaction,  so  there's  no  more  to  be  said." 


0' 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


'^r 


The  year's  work  had  been  most  encouraging  to 
Marsten.  He  had  come  to  a  cordial  understanding 
with  many  of  the  Unions,  not  only  at  home,  but  in 
America  and  the  colonies,  and  had  formed  an  active 
alliance  with  several  societies  of  workingmen  in  the 
United  Kingdom.  Times  were  good,  business  brisk, 
and  comparatively  few  men  were  out  of  employment. 
All  this  inspired  confidence  in  the  success  of  a  strike, 
for  the  demands  of  men  are  more  certain  to  be  listened 
to  with  attention  when  the  market  is  rising  than 
when  it  is  falling.  There  would  now  be  much  diffi- 
culty in  filling  the  shops  with  competent  hands,  as 
employment  was  more  general  throughout  the  coun- 
try than  had  been  the  case  for  years  before. 

Marsten  had  been  secretary  of  the  Union  for  eigh- 
teen months  before  he  made  up  his  mind  to  begin  the 
contest.  He  resolved  to  make  a  demand  for  a  ten  per 
cent  increase  of  wages  all  round,  and,  if  it  were  refused, 
to  call  out  the  men  at  once.  The  committee  met  in 
secret  session  and  the  demand  was  formulated.  A 
gathering  of  the  men  was  ordered  for  Saturday  night, 
but  the  subject  to  be  discussed  was  not  stated.  Mars- 
ten impressed  on  his  committee  the  necessity  for 
secrecy,  although  Gibbons,  who  was  one  of  the  mem- 
bers, said  he  failed  to  see  the  object  of  this,  as  their 
desire  was  to  obtain  the  increase,  and  that  desire  could 
not  be  attained  except  openly.  However,  he  added, 
Marsten  was  conducting  the  campaign,  and  it  was  but 
right  he  should  be  allowed  to  conduct  it  in  his  own 
way ;  therefore  Gibbons  merely  stated  his  objection 
but  did  not  insist  upon  it. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


32 


'>  1 


M 


Lging  to 
standing 
2,  but  in 
in  active 
n  in  the 
ss  brisk, 
loyment. 
a  strike, 
^  listened 
ing    than 
luch  diffi- 
hands,  as 
he  coun- 


A  deputation  was  appointed  to  seek  an  interview 
with  the  directors  and  make  the  demand  on  Saturday 
afternoon.  After  their  conference  they  were  to  drav: 
up  a  report  to  present  to  the  meeting  of  the  men. 

On  Friday  Sartwell  gathered  his  employees  together 
and  announced  to  them  that,  in  view  of  the  state  of 
business,  the  company  had  voluntarily  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  an  increase  of  wages  to  the  extent  of 
ten  per  cent  should  be  given,  adding  that  he  hoped 
the  amicable  relations  between  employers  and  em- 
ployed at  the  works  would  long  continue.  This  an- 
nouncement was  received  with  cheers,  and  the  work- 
ers, who  knew  nothing  of  the  meeting  of  the  commit- 
tee, dispersed  well  satisfied  with  the  outlook. 

It  was  too  late  to  countermand  the  gathering 
ordered  for  Saturday  night,  and  when  it  took  place 
some  inkling  of  what  had  happened  was  spread 
abroad ;  the  general  opinion  being  that  in  some  way 
Marsten  had  been  too  clever  by  half,  and  had  met 
with  an  unexpected  check. 

The  young  man,  however,  faced  the  meeting  in  good 
fettle,  and  congratulated  them  on  the  increase  offered. 
The  men  were  in  jubilant  humour,  and  they  cheered 
everything  that  was  said  with  the  utmost  impartiality. 
Marsten  told  them  frankly  why  the  meeting  had  been 
called,  and  he  exulted  in  the  fact  that  the  recent  un- 
expected turn  of  events  had  made  any  discussion  un- 
necessary. 

"  I  have  heard  it  hinted,"  he  continued,  "  that  I 
have  been  out-generalled  by  Mr.  Sartwell,  but  we  can 
stand  a  lot  of  beating  on  these  lines.  Mr.  Sartwell  is 
evidently  afraid  of  the  Union  ;!ozi'.  If  the  mere 
rumour  that  we  were  about  to  make  a  demand  induces 
so  stiff-necked  a  man  as  the  manager  to  capitulate  be- 
fore a  gun  is  fired,  it  goes  to  show  the  tremendous 
influence  we  can  wield  by  all  standing  firmly  to- 
gether." 

It  is  said  that  the  misplacing  of  a  comma  in  an  act 
of  Parliament  once  cost  the  country  a  hundred  thou- 


^^ipr 


«"  ...wjp" 


fv.. 


**:| 


V 


324 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■■•.! 
I,  , 


sand  pounds.  The  one  word  "  now,"  spoken  quite  un- 
thinkingly by  Marsten,  made  Gibbons  grind  his  teeth 
in  helpless  rage.  He  saw  Marsten  triumphant  and  his 
own  administration  discredited.  He  determined  to 
make  that  small  word  of  three  letters  cost  Marsten 
dear,  if  an  opportunity  of  upsetting  the  confident 
young  man  offered  itself.  However,  Gibbons  said 
nothing,  and  the  meeting  dispersed  with  cheers. 

Sartwell  had  no  delusion  regarding  the  advance  he 
had  made  the  men.  He  knew  he  had  merely  post- 
poned the  fight,  but  he  wanted  to  be  in  a  position  to 
show  the  directors  that  he  had  done  everything  possi- 
ble to  avoid  a  conflict.  Six  months  later  Sartwell 
called  the  directors  together. 

"  I  desire  to  place  before  you,"  he  said,  "  certain 
information  I  have  received.  There  is  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  a  further  demand  of  ten  per  cent  will  be 
made.  If  you  are  going  to  grant  it,  I  would  like  to 
know  ;  if  we  are  going  to  make  a  stand,  I  would  like 
to  know.     I  will  then  arrange  my  plans  accordingly." 

"If  we  grant  it,"  said  Mr.  Hope,  "what  do  you 
think  will  be  the  result?  Will  it  avert  trouble,  or 
will  it  be  made  the  basis  of  fresh  exactions  ?  We  can- 
not go  on  making  concessions  indefinitely." 

"  Giving  the  increase  will  probably  postpone  the 
trouble  for  another  six  months.  I  am  certain  that 
Marsten  wants  to  force  on  a  fight ;  he  has  been  pre- 
paring for  more  than  two  years.  What  I  want  to  im- 
press on  you  is  that  the  struggle,  when  it  comes,  is 
going  to  be  a  severe  one,  and  if  you  enter  upon  it,  you 
must  do  so  with  your  eyes  open,  resolved  to  fight  it  to 
the  very  end.  You  may  go  on  conceding  until  wages 
are  doubled,  and  every  fresh  concession  will  merely 
make  an  ultimate  fight  the  more  inevitable." 

"Then  you  think  we  had  better  make  a  stand 
now  ?  " 

"Yes;  if,  having  made  the  stand,  you  refuse  to 
capitulate  on  any  terms." 

"  But  if  we  find,  when  the  strike  has  lasted  a  few 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


325 


weeks,  that  we  cannot  hold  out,  it  would  be  folly  to 
continue." 

*'  Exactly.  You  know  your  own  resources,  and  I 
know  the  resources  of  the  men.  You  are  therefore 
in  as  good  a  position  to  make  up  your  minds  now  as 
two  weeks  hence,  or  a  month,  or  a  year.  If  we  enter 
into  a  contest  we  must  win,  or  I  must  resign." 

"  It  is  a  most  perplexing  situation,"  sighed  Mr. 
Hope. 

**  Oh,  the  situation  is  simple  enough.  You  either 
give  in  or  you  don't.     Which  is  it  ?  " 

"  What  are  the  chances  of  filling  the  works  with 
new  men,  should  it  prove  impossible  to  come  to  terms 
with  our  present  employees  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  so  good  as  they  were.  We  could 
do  it  gradually,  but  it  would  be  some  time  before  we 
were  in  full  force  again." 

"  That  would  mean  the  refusal  of  new  orders,  and 
perhaps  the  cancelling  of  many  now  on  hand." 

"  Undoubtedly.  That  is  the  cost  of  war.  We 
must  face  it  if  we  fight.  We  might  be  crippled  for 
six  months  to  come." 

**  That  is  very  serious.  Is  no  compromise  possi- 
ble? Could  you  not  confer  with  Marsten  and  find 
out  what  he  wants?" 

"  I  know  what  he  wants." 

"  And  you  think  compromise  impossible  ?  " 

"  Frankly,  I  do." 

"  Have  you  the  same  objection  to  meeting  Marsten 
that  you  had  to  meeting  Gibbons?" 

**  As  a  matter  of  principle  I  object  to  discussing  our 
business  with  any  outsider.  Marsten  has  never  raised 
that  point.  When  it  was  necessary  to  confer  with  me 
he  always  sent  a  deputation  of  our  own  men.  He  is 
a  much  more  dangerous  opponent  than  Gibbons  was." 

"  Would  you  be  willing,  then,  in  the  interests  of 
peace,  to  arrange  a  conference  with  Marsten,  talk  the 
matter  over,  and  come  to  an  understanding,  if  that 
be  possible  ?  " 


1;  1 


* 


«     <  i 

■tsr. 

■■..      . 

■  l> 

.  J 

.  1 '.;' 


326 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY 


"Yes.  I  will  send  foi  him  at  once;  but  I  don't 
think  it  will  be  of  the  slightest  use,  and  it  forms  a 
bad  precedent." 

It  was  unanimously  agreed  that  such  an  action  on 
Sartwell's  part  would  strengthen  his  hands,  and  that 
the  fight,  if  it  proved  inevitable,  could  be  gone  into 
with  greater  spirit  when  all  knew  that  everything 
possible  had  been  done  to  avoid  hostilities, 

Sartwell  invited  Marsten  to  meet  him  at  his  office 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  When  the  young 
man  entered  his  first  words  were  : 

"  You  told  me  I  was  not  to  set  foot  in  this  office 
unless  I  was  ordered  to  do  so  ;  I  must  apologize,  there- 
fore, for  coming  on  a  mere  invitation." 

"  Ah,  you  haven't  forgotten  that  yet !  "  said  Sart- 
well, with  a  laugh.  "  But  you  do  forget  apparently 
that  you  were  here  on  invitation  before, — during  the 
strike,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  so  I  was." 

"  Now,  Marsten,  to  begin  with,  have  you  any  personal 
ill  feeling  against  me  for  your  summary  dismissal?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest.  I  should  probably  have  acted 
as  you  did  under  the  same  circumstances." 

"  It  is  generous  of  you  to  say  that,  but  I  doubt  if 
you  would.  However,  not  attempting  to  excuse  my- 
self at  all,  I  may  say  that  the  event  did  not  quite  turn 
out  a'  T  expected.  I  hoped  that  you  would  call  on 
me,  '  lat  we  would — well,  arrange  an  armistice,  as 

it 

thought  you  knew  me  better  than  that." 
I  didn't,  you  see.     But  let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead.     Let  us  give  our  attention  to  the  present  and  to 
the  future,  and  I  shall  begin  by  asking  if  you  have 
any  suspicion  that  you  are  a  fool  ?  " 

*'  A  most  diplomatic  and  soothing  beginning,  Mr. 
Sartwell.  However,  I  suppose  we  are  all  more  or  less 
tinged  with  folly,  so  we  won't  quarrel  about  terms  ; 
but  we  seem  to  see  the  defects  of  others  rather  clearer 
than  we  see  our  own." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


327 


:  I  don't 
forms  a 

action  on 
and  that 
gone  into 
i^erything 

his  office 
lie  young 

this  office 
izc,  there- 
said  Sart- 
ipparently 
iuring  the 


ly  personal 
ismissal?  " 
lave  acted 

I  doubt  if 
xcuse  my- 
quite  turn 
Id  call  on 
mistice,  as 


ft  bury  its 

lent  and  to 

you  have 

ining,  Mr. 
lore  or  less 
lut  terms  ; 
ler  clearer 


"That  is  undoubtedly  true.  It  strikes  me,  then, 
that  you  are  wasting  your  life,  and  I  would  like  to 
convince  you  of  that  before  it  is  too  late." 

''  Yes  ?  " 

**  Yes.  I  want  an  assistant  manager.  He  must  be 
a  man  of  ability  and  a  man  I  can  trust.  I  am  getting 
on  in  years,  and  will  soon  stand  aside.  My  assistant, 
if  he  has  the  right  stuff  in  him,  will  take  my  place,  and 
the  future  will  belong  to  him.  I  offer  you  the  posi- 
tion." 

"  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  the  men." 

"  But  you  will  have  an  opportunity  of  doing  more 
for  the  men  in  that  position  than  you  can  possibly  do 
for  them  in  your  present  office,  where  they  grudgingly 
pay  you  barely  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  to- 
gether." 

"  I  don't  mean  the  men  in  these  works,  but  all 
workingmen  everywhere." 

"  Rather  a  large  order,  Marsten." 

"  I  know  it  is,  but  I  feel  equal  to  filling  it." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  imagine  I  make  you  this  offer 
because  I  am  afraid  of  you  as  secretary  of  the  Union." 

*'  Oh,  no.  I  am  well  aware  that  you  want  to  avoid 
a  fight,  and  I  know  you  are  afraid  of  nothing  except 
that  your  directors  will  not  back  you  through  to  a 
finish." 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  your  own  backers  are  as 
adamant?" 

"  No.  My  weakness  is  Gibbons  and  his  gang. 
Yours  is  the  board  of  directors.  One  neutralizes  the 
other,  so  it  will  be  an  interesting  fight." 

"  Make  no  mistake,  my  boy  ;  a  capitalist  will  back 
his  man  ten  times  as  long  as  a  worker  will  his." 

"  I  haven't  your  intense  admiration  for  the  capital- 
ist. Mr.  Hope  promised  me,  almost  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  to  look  after  my  future  when  he  found  I  was 
working  to  settle  the  other  strike  which  so  terrorized 


f» ,.^ 


328 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


1-Jk 


him.  I  and  my  friends  succeeded  in  breaking  up  the 
strike,  yet  you  discharged  me  a  week  after,  and  I 
doubt  if  Mr.  Hope  ever  gave  a  thought  to  his  promise 
from  that  day  to  this.  Your  capitalist  is  notoriously 
timid  and  thoroughly  selfish.  The  workingman  has 
his  faults,  of  course,  and  he  is  himself  the  greatest  suf- 
ferer from  them  ;  but  in  generosity  he  is  miles  ahead 
of  any  capitalist  that  ever  lived." 

*'  Then  you  -    e  determined  to  fight,  Marsten  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !     Not  if  you  give  in." 

"  How  often  shall  we  have  to  give  in?" 

"  Un'iil  such  time  as  the  compensation  given  to  the 
workers  is  at  least  equal  to  the  amount  taken  out  by 
the  so-called  proprietors  of  the  business." 

"  Ah,  that  is  Utopian,  which  is  simply  another  word 
for  nonsense.  Now,  why  not  be  perfectly  frank  and 
say  you  are  resolved  to  fight  us  ?  " 

"  My  position  is  this,  Mr.  Sartwell :  I  don't  want  to 
fight  for  a  fight's  sake,  and  I  have  no  revengeful  de- 
sire to  humiliate  you  or  to  defeat  the  firm  for  the  mere 
glory  of  victory  ;  but  I  am  convinced  the  men  will 
not  get  the  fair  share  of  what  they  make  until  there  is 
a  fight  and  a  decisive  victory.  A  few  years  ago  the 
very  right  to  combine  was  Utopian  and  nonsensical  in 
the  mind  of  the  capitalist,  yet  that  right  is  one  of  the 
undisputed  facts  of  to-day.  The  capitalist  won't  con- 
c  :;de  anything  until  he  is  forced  to  do  so.  Therefore 
there  must  be  a  struggle,  and  I  am  bound  to  choose 
my  own  time  and  my  own  battle-ground.  We  are 
ready  to  fight  now,  we  are  going  to  fight,  and  I  believe 
we  are  going  to  win." 

"  Exactly.  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  know.  As 
to  winning,  we  shall  see.  I  quite  agree  with  you  that 
there  is  nothing  so  satisfactory  in  the  long  run  as  a 
square,  stand-up  fight,  and  let  the  best  man  win.  The 
combatants  have  a  mutual  respect  for  each  other  after- 
wards. The  trouble  is  that  the  contest  is  rarely  free 
from  the  side  issues  that  affect  the  final  result.  In  this 
case  you  are  not  sure  of  your  backers;  neither  am  I. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


329 


;  up  the 
,  and  I 
promise 
Driously 
nan  has 
test  suf- 
;s  ahead 


1? 


>> 


n  to  the 
n  out  by 

tier  word 
ank  and 

t  want  to 

geful  de- 

the  mere 

men  will 

I  there  is 
ago  the 

nsical  in 
lie  of  the 
on't  con- 
'herefore 
lo  choose 
We   are 

II  believe 

jiow.     As 

lyou  that 

Irun  as  a 

kn.    The 

ler  after- 

jirely  free 

In  this 

her  am  I. 


If  I  were  the  owner  of  this  establishment  I  would  bring 
on  the  war  instantly,  carry  it  through  with  the  relent- 
lessness  of  a  Barbary  pirate,  win  it,  of  course,  and  have 
the  most  contented  men  in  England  in  my  employ 
ever  after.  As  it  is,  the  trouble  is  not  going  to  be 
decided  by  either  your  generalship  or  mine,  but  by  the 
relative  constancy  of  our  backers.  If  the  men  round 
on  you  before  my  directors  get  a  trifle  more  frightened 
than  they  are  now,  then  you  will  be  defeated.  If  the 
directors  get  panic-stricken  first,  then  I  shall  go  under. 
It  will  be  a  hollow  victory  either  way,  and  will  not  be 
decided  on  the  merits  of  the  case  at  all.  It  is  a  toss- 
up,  and,  if  we  were  sensible  men,  we  two  would  settle 
it  now  by  twirling  a  penny  in  the  air ;  besides,  if  you 
do  win,  it  will  be  a  barren  triumph,  for  you  will  lose 
everything  you  gain  the  moment  there  is  a  pinch  in 
trade.  The  only  reason  you  have  a  show  of  winning 
is  because  business  is  brisk,  and  the  directors  naturally 
wish  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines.  They  don't 
wish  to  be  crippled  and  have  a  fuss  on  while  their 
trade  rivals  are  reaping  the  benefit  of  their  embarrass- 
ment. The  moment  trade  becomes  dull  again,  down 
will  go  the  wages,  and  no  power  on  earth  can  prevent 
the  fall.  It  is  all  a  question  of  supply  and  demand. 
Oil  the  other  hand,  I  give  you  fair  warning  that,  if  I 
win,  not  another  Union  man  will  ever  set  foot  in  these 
works  again.  So  if  you  really  have  the  interests  of 
the  men  at  heart,  Marsten,  you  will  reflect  a  bit  before 
you  bring  on  the  fight." 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  I  have  the  interests  of  the  men 
at  heart  ?  " 

**  No,  I  don't.  I  believe  you  are  thoroughly  unself- 
ish, but  I  also  believe  you  are  needlessly  sacrificing 
yourself.  You  see  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  come  to  an 
agreement,  for  we  look  out  on  the  world  from  entirely 
different  standpoints.  You  are  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  the  mists  of  the  valley  of  youth  are  around  you, 
distorting  your  vision,  and  destroying  correct  propor- 
tion.    I  am  up  towards  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where 


SI 


'*} 


330 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


the  air  is  clearer.  You  see  men  heroic  and  noble  ;  I 
see  them  small  and  mean.  You  believe  in  the  work- 
ingman  ;  I  do  not.  The  chances  are  that  neither  of 
us  sees  with  absolute  accuracy,  and  the  truth  lies  be- 
tween the  two  extremes.  Nevertheless,  I  think  the 
day  of  chivalrous,  unselfish  action  is  past,  and  it  is 
every  man  for  himself  in  these  times." 

"  I  can't  understand  why  you  talk  like  that,  Mr. 
Sartwell.  I  have  seen  heroic  things  done  even  in  my 
short  life.  I  saw  a  man  come  out  of  these  works  alone 
and  unprotected,  when  he  knew  the  mob  outside  was 
howling  for  his  blood,  yet  there  was  no  trace  of  either 
fear  '^r  bravado  about  him  The  same  man  nearly 
lost  his  life  in  saving  other  when  the  factory  burned, 
and  Braunt,  an  unlearned  workingman,  did  unselfishly 
and  chivalrously  go  to  his  death   in  the  same  cause." 

"Ah,  Braunt  was  one  of  a  thousand  !  Well,  perhaps 
there  is  something  worth  preserving  left  in  human 
nature  after  all,  and  may  be  I  am  merely  growing  old 
and  pessimistic.  Anyway,  the  main  point  at  present 
is  that  there  must  be  a  trial  of  strength ;  so  I  suppose 
there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  shake  hands  like  a 
pair  of  prize-fighters  before  the  performance  begins. 
I  think  you  are  foolish,  you  know,  not  to  take  the 
sub-managership." 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  Marsten  departed 
into  the  night.  Sartwell  sat  in  his  office  for  some 
minutes  thinking  over  the  situation. 


oble ;  I 
e  work- 
itiier  of 
lies  be- 
mk  the 
nd  it  is 

lat,  Mr. 
n  in  my 
ks  alone 
side  was 
of  either 
n   nearly 

burned, 
iselfishly 
e  cause." 
,  perhaps 
1  human 
)vving  old 
t  present 

suppose 
ds   like  a 
begins. 

take  the 

departed 
for  some 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  second  strike  was  as  clean-cut  as  the  first : 
that  is  to  say,  no  laggards  remained  behind  in  the 
works  ;  there  was  apparent  unanimity  among  the  men, 
and  apparent  determination  on  the  part  of  the  mas- 
ters. To  all  outwa**^  seeming  it  was  to  be  a  straight- 
forward, brutal  trial  of  strength  between  Capital  and 
the  Union.  Marsten  cared  little  for  public  sympathy, 
which  Gibbons  had  considered  of  great  importance  ; 
and  Sartwell  cared  for  it  nothing  at  all.  The  public 
took  small  interest  either  way.  It  was  known  that  the 
company  had  voluntarily  advanced  the  wages  of  the 
men  a  short  time  before,  and  employers  generally 
said  that  this  showed  the  folly  of  sentimentality  in 
business  ;  that  no  master  should  advance  wages  until 
he  was  forced  to  do  so.  There  was  no  gratitude  on 
the  part  of  the  workingman,  they  averred,  and  some 
of  the  newspapers  took  the  same  tone.  But  even 
those  journals  favourable  to  labour  had  qualms  about 
the  wisdom  of  the  strike  under  the  circumstances,  al- 
though they  hoped  it  would  succeed. 

Marsten,  however,  paid  small  heed  to  the  com- 
ments of  friend  or  foe  ;  he  knew  that  success  or  failure 
did  not  lie  in  what  the  papers  said,  but  in  perfect  or- 
ganization and  in  hitting  hard.  He  knew  that,  if  he 
won,  most  of  the  praise  would  go  to  the  determi- 
nation of  the  men  and  the  opportuneness  of  the 
strike ;  while,  if  he  lost,  he  would  have  to  shoulder 
all  the  censure  that  had  to  be  bestowed.  He  pick- 
eted the  works  in  the  usual  way,  choosing  for  that  duty 
the  staunchest  of  his  friends  among  the  men.  He  asked 
the  remainder  of  the  employees  to  keep  away  from  the 


'is 

if 


!"^wi 


332 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


gates  and  leave  the  conduct  of  the  fight  entirely  to 
him  and  those  he  had  chosen  as  his  lieutenants. 

Once  the  fight  was  on,  Sartwell  determined  to  give 
no  quarter.  He  resolved  to  fill  up  the  works,  if  possi- 
ble, with  men  from  outside,  and  to  take  back  none  of 
the  old  employees  who  did  not  sign  a  paper  promising 
to  abandon  the  Union.  In  the  former  strike  he  had 
been  anxious  to  get  his  men  brxk  in  a  body,  and  had 
made  no  real  attempt  to  fill  their  places.  He  knew 
in  the  beginning  of  the  second  struggle  that  he  was 
fighting  for  his  life,  and  that  if  he  suffered  defeat  he 
would  resign,  and  the  place  that  had  known  him  for 
years  would  know  him  no  more.  He  had  no  fear  that 
the  company  would  discharge  him  if  he  lost  the  battle, 
— in  fact  he  knew  they  would  use  every  effort  to  induce 
him  to  remain  ;  but  it  was  his  own  stubborn  pride,  as 
his  wife  called  it,  that  he  felt  he  could  not  overcome 
even  if  he  had  wished  to  do  so.  Sartwell,  like  certain 
swords  of  finely-tempered  steel,  would  break,  but 
would  not  bend.  Years  of  unflinching  determination 
in  what  he  thought  was  right  had  made  him  a  man 
over  whom  he  himself  had  but  slight  control ;  and  he 
sometimes  recognized  with  grim  humour  that  while 
he  could  persuade  all  his  confreres  to  take  a  devious 
but  safe  course  upon  any  given  problem,  he  could  not 
induce  himself  to  follow  anything  but  the  straight 
line.  He  worked  night  and  day  at  the  task  of  filling 
the  factory  with  new  men.  He  scoured  the  country 
for  them,  and  his  telegraph  bills  alone  were  enormous  ; 
but  men  were  scarce — good  men  are  always  scarce, 
and  now  even  indifferent  workers  were  hard  to  find. 
Gibbons  had  once  said  that  the  workingman  of 
modern  times  suffers  from  the  fact  that  he  is  merely 
a  cog  in  a  big  wheel,  but  this  truism  tells  also  against 
the  employer  who  is  trying  to  fill  his  shops.  If  a  cog 
is  useless  by  itself  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
wheel  is  also  useless  until  the  cog  is  replaced.  It  is 
easy  for  an  employer  to  supply  the  place  of  a  single 
cog  ;  but  when  the  whole  wheel  is  cogless,  ninety-nine 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


333 


tirely  to 

i  to  give 
,  if  possi- 
none  of 
iromising 
-  he  had 
.  and  had 
He  knew 
it  he  was 
defeat  he 
11  him  for 
.  fear  that 
he  battle, 
to  induce 
1  pride,  as 
overcome 
ke  certain 
)reak,   but 
^rmination 
im  a  man 
and  he 
hat  while 
a  devious 
could  not 
e  straight 
v  of  filling 
e  country 
normous ; 
ys  scarce, 
d  to  find, 
gman    of 
is  merely 
Iso  against 
If  a  cog 
that  the 
ed.     It  is 
if  a  single 
linety-nine 


cogs  are  of  no  avail  if  the  hundredth  necessary  to 
complete  the  circle  cannot  be  found. 

It  was  here  that  Sartwell  had  the  first  touch  of  his 
opponent's  quality,  and  his  anger  was  lost  in  admira- 
tion for  the  young  man's  shrewdness  and  knowledge 
of  the  business.  The  fight  had  been  conducted  so 
quietly  that  no  one  in  the  neighbourhood  would  have 
known,  from  any  sign  of  disturbance,  that  war  was  in 
progress.  Marsten  made  no  attempt  to  buy  off  the  new 
men,  who  came  and  went  from  the  works  unmolested 
by  the  pickets.  Marsten  sometimes  talked  with  the 
strangers,  telling  them  of  the  strike,  and  asking  where 
they  came  from ;  advisinp^  them  to  get  work  elsewhere, 
but  never  making  any  .•:  empt  either  to  coerce  or  to 
bribe  them.  Sartwell  wondered  at  this,  and  hoped 
Marsten  woulc  continue  such  a  mild  and  harmless 
warfare;  nevertheless  its  very  mildness  made  him  anx- 
ious, and  he  cautioned  his  new  employees  to  give  no 
information  to  the  strikers,  though  he  was  well  aware  of 
the  uselessness  of  trying  to  inculcate  secrecy — for  men 
will  talk.  In  fact  Marsten  kept  himself  well  informed 
of  what  was  going  on  inside  the  works,  and  saw  that 
the  manager  was  quite  shrewdly  concentrating  his 
attention  to  one  branch  of  a  department,  instead  of 
trying  to  fill  the  whole  factory  at  one  time.  He  was 
gradually  collecting  his  hundred  cogs  from  all  points 
of  the  compass,  and  by  and  by  would  have  one  big 
wheel  and  pinion,  out  of  the  many  wheels  and  pinions, 
revolving.  One  day  at  noon,  when  the  men  came  out, 
Marsten,  rapidly  running  his  eye  over  them,  saw  a  new 
man,  and  at  once  he  recognized  that  here  at  last  was 
the  hundredth  cog. 

"You're  a  new-comer?"  he  said,  accosting  him. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  man;  "I  came  this  morning.** 

"  I'd  like  to  have  a  word  with  you,"  said  Marsten, 
keeping  step  with  him. 

"  It's  no  use.  I  know  there's  a  strike.  I'm  here  to 
work,  and  I  don't  give  a  hang  for  the  Union  !  " 

"  Well,  it  will  do  no  harm  to  talk  the  matter  over.** 


W7W 


H 


f 


\i 


Sg 


I 


■I 


334 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


"  It'll  do  no  good.  I  didn't  come  out  to  talk ;  I 
came  out  for  my  dinner." 

'*  Of  course.  I'm  on  the  same  lay  myself;  come 
with  me.     We  can  talk  and  eat." 

"  I  can  pay  for  my  own  dinner." 

"  Certainly;  I'm  not  offering  to  pay  for  it.  I  don't 
suppose  I  get  a  tenth  part  of  the  wages  you  do  ;  I 
can  see  by  the  look  of  you  that  you  are  a  good  work- 
man. I'm  secretary  of  the  Union,  and  I  get  but  a  few 
shillings  a  week.  I  would  tell  you  how  few,  but  you 
probably  wouldn't  believe  me,  for  I  could  get  much 
more  at  my  trade." 

"The  more  fool  you,  then,  for  working  for  less." 

"  Perhaps.  I  want  to  raise  the  wages  of  men  all 
over  the  kingdom,  so  I'm  content  to  work  for  little 
if  I  can  do  that.     Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  Bolton  man." 

'*  Is  your  family  here  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"What's  that  to  you,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"  It's  a  good  deal  to  all  of  us,  because  it  shows  that 
you  are  not  sure  of  your  situation." 

"  It  shows  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  guaranteed 
my  situation." 

"  Guaranteed  !  What  does  a  master's  guarantee 
amount  to  ?  We're  cfoincf  to  win  this  strike,  and  then 
where  will  you  new-comers  be  ?  You  know  what 
happens  when  the  men  go  back.  Not  one  of  you  will 
be  left  in  the  shops.  Suppose  you  do  get  good  wages 
for  a  few  weeks,  what  will  be  the  benefit  in  the  end  ? 
A  permanent  situation  at  even  lower  wages  would  be 
better." 

"Who  says  it  wouldn't?  But  I  haven't  the  per- 
manent situation,  you   see." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  sense.  Are  you  a  member 
of  the  Union  ?  " 

"  I  was.  I  had  a  row  with  the  foremen,  and  he  gave 
me  the  sack." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


335 


talk;  I 
;  come 


I  don't 
i  do ;  I 
d  work- 
jt  a  few 
)ut  you 
t  much 

ess. 

men  all 
or  little 


►ws  thn  t 

iranteed 

Liarantee 
,nd  then 
^v    what 

ou  will 
Id  wages 
|hc  end  ? 

luld   be 

-he  per- 
lember 
Ihe  crave 


"  In  whose  shop  was  that?  " 

"At  Smighden's. " 

"  I  don't  know  it.  What  wages  were  you  getting 
there  ?  " 

**  Thirty  shillings  a  week." 

"  Do  you  know  Markham,  Sarbury  &  Company,  of 
Bolton?" 

**Yes." 

"Would  you  be  satisfied  with  thirty  shillings  a 
week  there?  " 

"Yes  ;  if  I  could  be  sure  of  getting  it." 

"You  can  be  sure  of  it.  I  will  telegraph  to  the  fore- 
man this  minute,  and  we'll  have  an  answer  before  we 
finish  eating.  He  has  promised  to  find  me  places 
for  three  men,  and  I  haven't  sent  him  one  yet.  But 
don't  say  a  word  to  any  one  here,  for  I  want  to  keep 
the  other  two  places  for  Bolton  men  if  they  come." 

"  I'll  not  go  back  to  this  shop  at  all  if  I  can  be  sure 
of  a  place  in  Bolton." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Sartwell  lost  his  hun- 
dredth cog,  and  the  cog  never  thought  it  worth  his 
while  to  give  his  late  master  even  a  word  of  explana- 
tion.    He  left  on  the  first  train  for  Manchester. 

Tliis  kind  of  thing  happened  several  times  before 
Sartwell  fully  realized  the  method  in  Marsten's  action. 
He  thought  at  first  that  Marsten  had  been  merely  lucky 
in  buying  off  a  man  at  the  very  time  when  such  a  pur- 
chase would  block  all  progress.  It  was  like  pulling 
the  linchpin  from  one  of  the  axles  of  a  wagon.  The 
manager  wrote  to  his  fellow-managers  in  different 
parts  of  the  country,  and  warned  them  that  their  fore- 
men were  giving  places  to  employees  from  the  works 
of  Monkton  &  Hope,  and  he  received  answers  saying 
they  would  do  all  they  could  to  prevent  such  trans- 
planting ;  but,  as  it  was  difficult  to  trace  where  a  man 
went,  when  so  few  of  them  were  deported,  the  warning 
came  to  nothing.  If  a  wholesale  exodus  had  been  at- 
tempted, Sartwell,  with  the  aid  of  his  fellow-managers, 
might   have  done  somcthi  ig  to  prevent  its  success; 


«l «' ' »' ,- 


'■»'».. 


i>l 


iiiili 


3:1 


«»«.. 


'a 


336 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


but  the  very  homceopathic  nature  of  Marsten's  remedy 
made  it  difficult  to  cope  with.  By  this  time  th.  feel- 
ing that  he  was  a  beaten  man  came  over  Sartwell,  and, 
although  he  said  nothing  and  sought  sympathy  from 
no  one,  it  aged  him  more  than  years  of  toil  had  done. 
His  daughter,  now  home  from  school,  saw  with  help- 
less grief  the  deep  lines  care  was  ploughing  in  his  rug- 
ged face. 

Curiously  enough,  Marsten's  quiet  but  effective 
methods,  which  convinced  so  far-seeing  a  man  as  Sart- 
well that  they  were  ultimately  to  be  successful,  had 
the  very  opposite  effect  on  the  strikers  themselves. 
They  did  not  understand  the  game,  and  they  saw  with 
increasing  uneasiness  that  the  works  were  apparently 
filling  up  while  nothing  was  being  done  to  prevent  it. 
Marsten  did  not  call  meetings  and  enthusiastically  show 
his  hand  with  an  outburst  of  eloquence,  as  had  been 
the  habit  with  Gibbons.  The  men  thought  he  was 
doing  nothing  merely  because  he  was  saying  nothing, 
and  even  Marsten's  own  friends  began  to  feel  dubious 
about  the  result.  There  was  no  sign  of  giving  in  on 
the  part  of  the  masters,  and  they  saw  every  day  an 
increased  number  of  men  come  out  of  the  gates.  In 
spite  of  Marsten's  prohibition  the  strikers  began  to 
gather  about  the  gates,  hooting  the  new  employees 
when  they  came  out ;  for  hoots  and  groans  seemed  to 
accomplish  something,  and  were  at  least  a  relief  to  the 
pent-up  feelings  of  the  idle  men.  Marsten  saw  these 
signs  of  revolt  with  uneasiness ;  but  he  thought,  as  the 
men  this  time  were  not  starving,  and  as  they  all  knew 
the  Union  was  still  in  ample  funds,  he  could  keep  the 
strikers  in  hand  until  a  decisive  blow  would  show 
Monkton  &  Hope  the  futility  of  further  resistance. 
He  had  quietly  prepared  such  a  blow,  and  he  expected 
that  when  it  fell  the  strike  would  triumphantly  end. 

A  deputation  of  the  strikers,  headed  by  Gibbons, 
waited  on  him,  and  demanded  that  public  meetings 
should  be  held — as  had  always  been  done  before — so 
that  the  men  might  be  kept  informed  of  the  progress 


r 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


337 


remedy 
th .  feel- 
ell,  and, 
tiy  from 
id  done, 
th  help- 
his  rug- 
effective 
.  as  Sart- 
sful,  had 
;mselves. 
saw  with 
)parently 
revent  it. 
ally  show 
had  been 
t  he  was 
;  nothing, 
i  dubious 
ling  in  on 


of  a  struggle  that  vitally  affected  their  interests.  Gib- 
bons spoke  strongly  and  feelingly  on  the  subject,  as 
one  who  speaks  from  the  heart,  and  the  deputation  was 
correspondingly  impressed.  It  was  not  right.  Gibbons 
held,  that  they  should  grope  longer  in  the  dark  ;  they 
wanted  to  know  where  they  were,  and  what  measures 
were  being  taken  to  bring  Sartwell  to  terms. 

"  But,  don't  you  see,"  protested  Marsten,  "  that  any 
information  I  give  publicly  to  my  friends  at  once  be- 
comes known  to  the  enemy?  I  never  knew  anything 
to  be  accomplished  by  talk.  There  is  generally  too 
much  of  it  in  a  contest  of  this  kind." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  the  glib  Gibbons ; 
"  but  in  the  absence  of  talk  we  would  like  to  have 
some  evidence  of  action.  This  sort  of  thing  cannot 
be  kept  up  for  ever.  Sartwell  is  gradually  filling  the 
factory,  and  we  are  all  getting  a  little  restive.  We 
must  know  what  is  going  on,  for  it  will  be  no  consola- 
tion to  be  told  in  a  week — or  two — or  three — that  you 
find  you  have  no  chance  of  succeeding,  and  that  we 
must  make  the  best  terms  we  can.  You  must  remem- 
ber that,  although  you  lose  no  situation,  we  do. 
Will  you  call  a  meeting  and  explain  to  the  men  what 
the  chances  of  success  are  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  A  general  does  not 
call  his  army  together  and  explain  to  them  what  he 
intends  to  do  next.  I  am  leader  of  this  strike,  and  I 
am  going  to  lead  it  my  own  way  or  not  at  all.  You 
say  the  factory  is  filling  up,  but  I  tell  you  that  not  a 
stroke  of  work  has  been  done  since  the  strike  began. 
All  I  will  promise  to  do  is  to  let  you  know  two  weeks 
before  we  come  to  the  end  of  our  funds ;  then,  if  you 
do  not  think  we  will  succeed,  you  will  have  time  to 
make  what  arrangements  you  please,  and  depose  me." 

**  Oh,  that  kind  of  high-handed  business  does  not 
do  in  this  age.  You  are  not  an  autocrat,  remember. 
The  men  have  every  right  to  demand  an  account  of 
what  you  are  doing  with  them  and  their  money." 

"  When  you  were  leader,  Gibbons,  they  were  at  the 


«i 


338 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I* 


1(1 


1 


"«*., 


I  i:i 


fe-'-t- 


cnd  of  their  funds  before  you  let  them  know  anything 
about  it.  There  was  talk  enough  in  those  days,  and 
precious  little  iriformation  went  with  it.  I  won't  con- 
duct a  strike  with  my  mouth,  and  I  won't  stand  any 
interference." 

"  You  are  our  servant,  I  beg  you  to  remember,  and 
it  is  no  interference  when  we  simply  ask  to  know  what 
is  being  done  and  what  you  intend  to  do.  Now  you 
will  either  call  a  meeting  of  the  men  at  the  Salvation 
Hall  or  we  will.     Which  is  it  to  be?" 

"  I  shall  not  call  a  meeting.  If  you  call  one,  then  you 
take  the  responsibility  of  meddling  in  a  matter  you 
don't  understand.  It  is  quite  possible  that  you  may 
be  able  to  embarrass,  or  perhaps  defeat  me  ;  but  if  you 
do,  the  time  will  come  when  the  men  will  curse  you  for 
your  intervention.  I  tell  you  we  are  bound  to  win 
this  strike  if  you  keep  your  hands  off.  Calling  a  meet- 
ing  will  merely  show  Sartwell  that  we  are  getting  anx^ 
ious,  and  his  whole  hope  is  centered  in  a  division 
among  us.  He  was  frank  enough  to  tell  me  so  him- 
self." 

"When  did  he  tell  you  that?" 

"  Before  the  strike  began." 

Gibbons  looked  significantly  at  the  deputation,  and 
one  or  two  of  the  members  nodded  sadly,  as  much  as 
to  say  they  wouldn't  have  believed  it ;  but  it  was  now 
only  too  evident,  from  their  secretary's  own  admission, 
that  he  had  secret  communications  with  the  enemy. 

"  I  think,"  said  Gibbons,  solemnly,  "  that,  after  what 
you  have  said,  there  is  all  the  more  reason  why  you 
should  call  the  men  together,  and  explain  to  them  how 
you  came  to  be  discussing  with  Sartwell  the  probable 
failure  of  the  strike  even  before  it  began.  You  knew 
that  was  a  tender  point  with  us  long  since;  and  if 
Sartwell  is  your  enemy,  as  you  said  he  was,  I  can't 
see  for  the  life  of  me  why " 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  need  of  any  secrecy  about  it,  Gib- 
bons. In  fact  there  is  little  mystery  about  anything 
we  do,  and  that  is  one  reason  I  don't  want  to  call  a 


i 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


339 


nything 
ays,  and 
^n't  con- 
and  any 

iber,  and 
low  what 
Slow  you 
salvation 

then  you 
itter  you 
you  may 
Dut  if  you 
hc  you  for 
id  to  win 
ig  a  meet- 
tting  anx^ 
EL  division 
le  so  him- 


ition,  and 
nnuch  as 
was  now 
idmission, 
[enemy, 
ifter  what 
why  you 
them  how 
probable 
Tou  knew 
-e;  and  if 
[s,  I  can't 

It  it,  Gib- 

anything 
to  call  a 


public  meeting.  Things  are  bad  enough  as  they  are. 
I  have  found  that  Sartvvell  generally  knows  what  we 
are  about  to  do  before  many  of  us  know  it  ourselves.  I 
went  to  Sartwell  because  he  asked  me  to  go.  He 
knew  this  strike  was  coming  on,  although  I  had  im- 
agined it  had  only  been  discussed  between  myself  and 
SO'  le  of  the  others.  He  offered  me  the  assistant 
managership  of  the  works  if  I  would  resign  my  posi- 
tion as  secretary.  I  refused,  and  he  told  me  this 
strike  was  bound  to  fail  because  the  men  would  not 
be  true  to  me.  You  can  give  the  men  the  whole  par- 
ticulars of  my  talk  with  Sartvvell,  but  there  is  no  need 
of  calling  a  meeting  to  diixuss  it." 

"  That  may  all  be  true,  but  I  confess  it  sounds 
rather  fishy.  I  doubt  if  Sartwell  is  so  much  afraid  of 
you  as  that  comes  to.  Anyhow,  there  is  no  harm  in 
finding  out  just  where  we  stand.  I  will  do  my  best 
to  calm  the  apprehensions  of  the  men,  but  I  give  you 
warning  that  if  nothing  more  encouraging  than  we 
have  had  lately  turns  up  within  a  week,  there  will  be 
trouble.  The  men  will  call  a  meeting  themselves  if 
you  don't." 

*'  If  nothing  happens  within  a  week,  I  will  call  a 
meeting  and  give  them  an  account  of  what  has  been 
done  so  far ;  but  I  don't  approve  of  meetings,  and  I 
shall  call  one  practically  under  compulsion.  You  are 
forcing  my  hand,  Gibbons,  and  you  promised  me  fair 
play." 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  have  had  a  good  run  for  your 
money,  and  I  think  we  are  very  patient  in  consenting 
to  wait  a  week  when  we  are  being  led  we  don't  know 
where." 

The  deputation  then  withdrew,  and  Marsten  paced 
up  and  down  the  room,  w  ndering  if  the  directors 
were  giving  Sartwell  as  uneasy  a  time  as  the  men  were 
giving  him.  As  was  the  case  during  the  former  strike, 
the  Salvation  Hall  had  been  placed  at  the  disposal  of 
the  men.  Marsten  had  called  no  meetings  except  the 
one  that   had    ushered    in  the  strike.     He  made    his 


340 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


455if| 


rp' 


i 


Hi,, 


**  , 

fit 


headquarters,  however,  in  a  room  that  opened  upon 
the  platform,  and  which  also  communicated  with  a 
narrow  lane  that  led  along  the  outside  of  the  hall  to 
the  street.  Here  his  pickets  reported  to  him,  and  here 
the  work  made  necessary  by  the  strike — the  bookkeep- 
ing and  the  correspondence — was  done.  Here  also 
letters  and  telegrams  were  received.  It  was  a  bare 
room  with  only  two  or  three  chairs  and  a  rough  table 
as  its  furnishing.  Several  religious  and  moral  mottoes 
were  tacked  on  the  boards  that  formed  the  walls. 
"  Love  one  another  "  was  the  sentence  that  met  Mars- 
ten's  eye  whenever  he  looked  up  from  his  seat  at  the 
table.  He  sometimes  smiled  sadly  as  he  gazed  at  it. 
Marsten  paused  in  his  walk,  and  sat  down  at  the  table 
on  hearing  a  knock  at  the  outside  door.  A  telegraph 
messenger  entered  and  handed  him  an  envelope. 
Marsten  tore  it  open,  and  read  the  single  word 
"  Stopped."  The  word  had  come  from  the  other  side 
of  the  earth,  travelling  from  Sydney,  New  South  Wales, 
to  London.  A  gleam  of  savage  joy  lit  up  the  eyes  of 
the  young  man,  and,  to  the  amazement  of  the  messen- 
ger, he  brought  his  fist  down  heavily  on  the  deal  table. 

"  There  is  no  answer,"  he  said  to  the  waiting  boy, 
suddenly  recollecting  that  he  was  not  alone ;  **  and," 
he  added  to  himself,  "  there  will  be  no  answer  but 
one  from  Monkton  &  Hope." 

Once  more  he  paced  the  room  up  and  down,  his 
frame  quivering  with  the  delight  of  battle  and  the 
fore-knowledge  of  victory.  The  motto,  "  Love  one 
another,"  shone  peacefully,  but  unnoticed,  on  the 
wall. 


h    11 


led  upon 
i  with   a 
le  hall  to 
and  here 
lookkeep- 
iere  also 
Ls  a  bare 
ugh  table 
1  mottoes 
:he  walls, 
net  Mars- 
eat  at  the 
^zed  at  it. 
the  table 
telegraph 
envelope, 
gle    word 
other  side 
ith  Wales, 
tie  eyes  of 
le  messen- 
ieal  table, 
iting  boy, 
"and," 
iswer  but 

down,  his 
and  the 
ove  one 

1,  on    the 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

When  the  two  years'  educational  course  at  East- 
bourne was  finished,  Edna  Sartwell  returned  to  Wim- 
bledon, and  again  took  up  her  position  in  her  father's 
house.  As  time  went  on,  Sartwell  was  quietly  pleased 
to  see  that  there  was  an  absence  of  that  friction  between 
his  women-folk  which  had  been  his  ostensible  reason* 
for  sending  Edna  away.  He  had  had  but  faint  hope 
that  the  interval  of  two  years  would  soften  his  wife's 
only  partially  concealed  dislike  for  the  girl ;  but,  now 
that  peace  reigned  over  the  household,  he  did  not  in- 
quire too  closely  into  the  cause  of  the  welcome 
change.  He  did  not  know  his  daughter  now  bore  un- 
complainingly what  she  had  before  rebelled  against. 
Mrs.  Sartwell's  attitude  towards  education  in  general 
was  one  calculated  to  discourage  the  friends  of  learn- 
ing. She  looked  upon  a  course  in  school  as  a  sinful 
waste  of  time  and  money.  The  Apostles,  she  held, 
had  never  even  gone  to  a  Board  school,  and  who 
among  present-day  people  were  to  be  compared  with 
the  Apostles  ?  Education  was  merely  a  pamperer  of 
that  deplorable  pride  which  was  already  too  great  a 
characteristic  of  this  conceited  nation.  She  had  many 
texts  at  her  command  which  went  to  prove  that  too 
much  learning  was  a  dangerous  thing,  and  th(  se  quota- 
tions she  frequently  presented  to  Edna,  in  the  hope 
that  many  repetitions  of  them  would  mitigate,  in  some 
measure,  the  evil  that  was  sure  to  follow  a  period 
spent  at  a  fashionable  and  expensive  school.  Over- 
weening pride  was  Mrs.  Sartwell's  especial  bugbear  ; 
it,  more  than  anything  else,  was  driving  modern  na- 
tions rapidly  to   perdition.     She  told    Edna,  sorrow- 


lfl"JW  » 


34- 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ii«ii 


I 


!  <»! 


'm 


fully,  that  she  noticed  an  unwelcome  change  in  her 
manner  since  her  return  from  Eastbourne.  The  pride 
which  aped  humility  was  ever  the  most  baneful  variety 
of  that  detestable  fault,  and  Edna's  silence  in  the  face 
of  good  counsel  showed  that  her  pride  had  assumed 
the  sullen  type  which  is  so  difficult  for  a  good  woman 
to  deal  with.  It  was  only  when  Mrs.  Sartwell — of- 
fended by  absence  of  retort  and  cheated  out  of  her  just 
due  of  argument  by  the  silence  of  her  adversary — 
threatened  to  lay  before  her  husband  the  appalling  re- 
sults of  over-education  upon  an  already  haughty 
nature,  that  some  glimmer  of  the  old  rebellion  flashed 
out  between  them;  yet  the  rebelliousness,  like  the 
hauteur,  had  been  changed  by  the  two  years'  residence 
at  Eastbourne.  That  Edna  was  angry  at  this  pro- 
posed appeal  to  her  father,  was  evident ;  still  there  was 
a  reserve  and  restraint  in  her  indignation  which  Mrs. 
Sartwell  could  not  fathom.  The  girl  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  at  her,  then  said  very  quietly  : 

"  My  father  has  enough  to  worry  him  without  being 
bothered  by  our  small  affairs.  He  thinks  my  two  vears' 
absence  has  made  you  like  me  better  than  you  did  be- 
fore I  went  away,  and  I  wish  him  to  continue  think- 
ing so." 

"Like  you  better?  My  poor  child,  it  is  the  love  I 
have  for  you  that  causes  me  to  endeavour,  in  my 
humble  way, — praying  that  my  efforts  may  be  l»lessed 
by  a  Higher  Power, — to  correct  those  faults  that  will 
be  your  undoing  some  day." 

*'  I  am  speaking  of  what  my  father  thinks.  The 
moment  he  finds  things  are  just  as  bad  as  they  ever 
were,  then  all  your  hold  over  me  is  gone.  I  am  now 
trying  to  bear  patiently  and  uncomplainingly  all  I 
have  to  put  up  with  in  this  house,  and  I  do  so  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  save  my  father  unnecessary 
trouble.  You  say  I  am  proud,  resentful,  stubborn, 
and  all  that.  I  am  far  worse  than  even  you  have  any 
idea  of.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of  the  kind  of 
woman    I   shall  become  if   I  am  much  longer  under 


:r.' 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


343 


your  sway.  I  feel  like  a  hypocrite  when  I  remain 
silent  under  your  taunts,  for  I  think  such  things  that 

if  I  were  to  put  them  in  words well,  we  won't  talk 

of  that.  If  you  imagine  that  I  have  learned  meek- 
ness because  I  have  lived  in  a  really  Christian  family 
for  two  years,  you  are  very  much  mistaken ;  but  I 
have  learned  that  true  Christianity  does  not  consist  in 
nagging,  with  a  text  at  the  end  of  every  exasperating 
sentence.  Now,  being  a  woman,  I  understand  you 
very  much  bette.*  than  my  father  does.  You  said 
once  that,  if  he  chose  me  to  be  mistress  of  this  house, 
you  would  lay  down  your  keys  and  depart  without 
a  murmur.  You  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You 
would  fight  for  your  place.  Therefore  I  want  you  to 
understand  thoroughly  what  you  may  expect  if  you 
appeal  to  my  father.  The  moment  you  complain  of 
me  in  any  way,  or  lead  him  to  think  there  is  the 
least  friction,  I  shall  go  to  him  and  say  that  I  must 
be  mistress  here.  What  will  happen  then? — you 
knov/  as  well  as  I  do.  So  long  as  he  is  not  troubled 
with  our  affairs,  I  shall  say  nothing,  and  will  try  to 
be  as  dutiful  and  obedient  as  if  I  were  your  own 
daughter." 

Mrs.  Sartwell  sat  down,  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  wept  softly,  as  one  does  whose  tenderest 
feelings  are  wounded.  It  was  hard  that,  after  having 
a  lifelong  contest  with  one  stubborn  person,  resulting 
in  a  most  uncertain  and  unsatisfactory  victory, — if  it 
could  be  called  a  victory  at  all, — she  should  be  called 
upon  to  face  the  same  problem  over  again.  She 
knew  that  if  Edna  appealed  to  her  father  anything 
might  happen.  He  would  be  brute  enough  to  take 
another  house  somewhere,  and  live  in  peace  with  his 
daughter.  The  man  was  capable  of  anything,  in  spite 
of  all  the  precepts  she  had  flung  away  upon  him. 
However,  there  was  still  the  consolation  that  she 
might  save  the  girl  by  earnest  and  devoted  persist- 
ence in  well-doing,  and  she  knew  Edna  would  not 
protest  so  long  as  her  father  was  unmolested  :  so  Mrs. 


344 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'1 


\: 


Sartwell  agreed  that  her  husband  should  not  be  made 
the  referee  between  them,  and  Peace  once  more  folded 
her  white  wings  over  the  happy  home. 

Edna  had  developed  into  a  beautiful  woman ;  more 
beautiful,  indeed,  than  she  herself  had  any  idea  of. 
She  was  more  sedate  and  reserved  than  when  she  had 
left  home,  and  more  prone  to  sit  thoughtfully,  chin  in 
hand,  and  ponder,  with  her  dreamy  eyes  trying  to 
peer  into  the  future.  Resolutely  as  she  had  set  her- 
self to  put  Marstcn  forever  out  of  her  thoughts,  she 
never  succeeded,  and  his  vibrant,  deep-toned  voice 
often  came  back  to  her.  Although  she  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  democratic  way,  and  theoretically  held 
that  one  person  was  technically  as  good  ls  another, 
yet  she  lived  in  a  country  where  a  grocer's  daughter 
considers  it  quite  beneath  her  dignity  to  be  seen  in 
company  with  a  green-grocer's  daughter ;  while  the 
daughter  of  a  draper,  from  her  serene  social  altitude, 
would  have  some  difificulty  in  distinguishing  the  rela- 
tive status  of  the  other  two,  although  she  would  be 
well  aware  that  the  adjective  "green  "  carried  compa- 
rative degradation  with  it.  Edna  was  the  daughter  of 
a  man  who  had  been  a  workman ;  yet,  when  she 
thought  over  the  proposal  she  had  received  in  the 
school  garden,  she  was  slightly  shocked  to  think  that 
a  workman  should  aspire  to  the  hand  of  his  master's 
daughter.  She  had  conversed  with  Marsten,  and  dis- 
cussed the  problems  that  had  interested  them  both, 
yet  never  for  a  moment  had  the  thought  of  equality 
between  them  entered  her  mind.  He  was  merely  a 
workrrian,  and,  when  that  was  said,  a  gulf  yawned. 
But  love  levels  all  ranks,  as  a  distinguished  man  has 
sung,  and,  as  the  j^oung  woman  meditated  on  the 
subject  in  all  its  bearings,  the  social  barriers  seemed 
to  become  less  and  less  tangible.  She  remembered 
that  no  thought  of  social  inequality  had  ever  occurred 
to  her  while  in  his  presence.  She  got  no  further  in 
the  understanding  of  her  own  feelings  *  ^an  the  con- 
clusion that  she  liked  him  very  much  indeed,  and  had 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


345 


a  strong  admiration  for  his  manliness  and  his  deter- 
mination to  succeed. 

When  the  strike  came  on,  and  she  knew  that  her 
father  and  her  lover  were  opponents,  her  state  of  mind 
was  one  of  great  perplexity.  It  was  hard  that  one  or 
the  other  must  be  defeated,  and  she  sighed  when  she 
thought  of  the  relentlessness  of  fate  in  bringing  into 
savage  opposition  the  two  men  who  were  now  dearer 
to  her  than  all  the  world  beside. 

As  the  contest  went  on  and  she  saw  her  father 
bending  under  the  storm,  ageing  perceptibly  day  by 
day,  becoming  more  and  more  silent,  her  strong  af- 
fection for  him  grew  stronger ;  she  yearned  towards 
him,  wishing  she  could  comfort  him,  yet  knowing  she 
was  helpless.  Sometimes  a  fierce  resentment  against 
Marsten  would  spring  suddenly  up  in  her  heart.  He 
had  all  the  world  to  fight  against,  yet  he  must  choose 
as  his  antagonist,  out  of  the  many  millions,  her  father. 
It  disconcerted  her  to  perceive  that  this  resentment 
never  lasted  long  ;  that  she  found  herself  sympathiz- 
ing too  with  the  younger  of  the  combatants,  and  mak- 
ing excuses  for  him.  A  partisan  has  an  easy  time  of 
it  in  this  world,  compared  with  one  who  sees  that  all 
the  good  or  all  the  bad  rarely  rests  with  one  side  solely, 
but  is  interwoven  like  the  cotton  and  the  wool  in  a 
piece  of  cloth.  Sartwell  and  Marsten  each  believed 
he  was  fighting  for  the  right ;  but  Edna  saw  wrong 
on  both  sides  and  right  on  both  sides,  although— once 
the  fight  was  started — she  had  not  the  courage  to  say 
this  to  her  father. 

But,  as  war  goes  on,  the  original  right  or  wrong 
almost  invariably  sinks  out  of  sight,  and  we  choose 
our  side  from  other  considerations  than  those  which 
appeal  in  times  of  peace  to  thinking  beings.  He  who 
holds  aloof  is  branded  as  a  traitor:  and  yet  man,  with 
his  marvellous  capacity  for  self-esteem,  flatters  him- 
self that  he  is  a  reas'  ning  animal. 

Sartwell  generally  came  home  late,  sometimes 
returning  by  the  last  train.     It  had  come  to  be  recog- 


'  'Tir'""?! 


346 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


^ 


nized  that  it  was  Edna's  privilege  to  sit  up  for  him, 
and,  although  he  faintly  protested  once  or  twice  when 
he  found  her  there  after  midnight,  it  was  quite 
evident  that  her  presence  was  a  comfort  to  him.  She 
had  a  soothing,  restful  way  with  her,  moving  silently 
about  the  room,  anticipating  a  tired  man's  needs  with- 
out unnecessary  fuss,  and  with  no  irritating  questions 
to  ask;  yet  she  was  a  sympathetic  and  receptive  listener 
if  there  was  anything  to  be  told.  In  the  wake  of  some 
women  inanimate  nature  seems  to  clash  :  doors  bang, 
plates  fall,  cups  and  saucers  clatter,  and  chairs  upset, 
jangling  nerves  sensitive  to  sound  ;  but  Edna  could 
deftly  set  out  a  supper  without  so  much  as  a  chink  of 
china.  She  knew  the  value  of  trivialities, — the  setting 
of  the  arm-chair  at  just  the  right  angle  so  that  the 
light  fell  over  the  shoulder  as  it  should,  the  placing  of 
the  slippers  where  the  stockinged  feet  fell  into  them 
without  effort ;  and,  when  her  father  was  too  much 
fatigued  to  care  for  the  formality  of  sitting  up  to  the 
festive  board  late  at  night,  a  small  gipsy  table,  covered 
with  spotless  linen  and  some  dainty  that  might  tempt 
the  appetite  of  a  LucuUus,  would  appear  at  his  right 
elbow  as  if  they  had  come  noiselessly  up  through  the 
floor.  All  this  came  under  the  general  head  of  "  pam- 
pering "  in  Mrs.  Sartwell's  vocabulary,  and  the  good 
woman,  finding  that  her  example  was  of  no  effect  in 
putting  a  stop  to  it,  retired  early  to  rest,  so  that  she 
might  not  countenance  such  proceedings  by  her  pre- 
sence. There  was  a  time  to  eat  and  a  time  to  drink, 
and  if  a  man  presumed  to  be  hungry  at  midnight,  it 
was  a  sin  that  should  be  punished  by  dyspepsia  in 
this  world  and  goodness  knows  what  in  the  next. 

In  spite  of  the  compact  between  them,  Sartwell  told 
his  daughter  little  about  the  progress  of  the  strike  ;  and 
she,  seeing  him  indisposed  to  speak,  forbore  to  ques- 
tion him,  feeling  that  no  suggestion  she  might  have  to 
offer  could  be  of  any  value  to  him,  contenting  herself 
with  protecting  him  from  annoyance  at  home,  and 
cheering  him  as  much  as  possible  whenever  she  had 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


347 


him  to  herself.  But  it  wrung  her  heart  to  see  him  fail- 
ing perceptibly  day  after  day,  his  step,  which  she 
eagerly  listened  for,  losing  more  and  more  its  self- 
reliant  tread. 

One  night  she  sat  in  his  arm-chair  waiting  for  him, 
thinking  deeply.  She  looked  suddenly  up  with  a 
start,  and  saw  her  father  standing  beside  the  table  gaz- 
ing down  at  her.  His  face  was  white,  gaunt,  and  hag- 
gard, and  the  gloom  of  his  countenance  was  deepened 
rather  than  relieved  by  the  sombre  smile  that  parted 
his  lips  as  he  regarded  her.  He  seemed  like  a  man  on 
the  verge  of  a  serious  illness,  and  so  startled  was  the 
girl,  that  for  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  fearing  that  an  apparition  stood  before 
her. 

"  Father! "  she  cried  at  last,  springing  to  her  feet. 
"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

**  Nothing,  my  girl,  except  that  you  have  been 
asleep  in  the  chair  when  you  should  have  been  in  bed 
long  ago." 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  been  asleep,  yet  I  didn't  hear 
you  open  the  door.     But  you  are  ill." 

**  I'm  right  enough.  A  little  tired,  that's  all.  No, 
I  won't  have  anything  to  eat,  thank  you.  It's  after 
closing  hours,  I  know;  but  I'm  a  traveller,  and  I'll 
have  something  to  drink,  if  you  don't  mind." 

He  tried  to  laugh  a  little  over  this  attempted 
pleasantry,  but  his  laugh  sounded  dismal,  and  it 
frightened  the  girl  still  more,  instead  of  reassuring  her, 
as  was  his  intention.  The  neck  of  the  decanter  clat- 
tered igainst  the  glass  like  chattering  teeth,  which 
seemed  to  annoy  Sartwell ;  for  he  muttered  some- 
thing, and  shot  a  glance  at  his  daughter  to  see  if  she 
had  noticed  his  unusual  nervousness.  Then  he  grasped 
the  vessel  more  firmly,  pouring  the  liquor  with  a 
steadier  hand,  but  the  effort  rnadc  him  tighten  his 
lips.  He  drank  off  the  liquid  and  set  down  the 
empty  glass.  Edna  stood  opposite  him;  he  looked 
up  at  her  with  a  wan  smile  on  his  lips. 


::i 


348 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


%i.. 


h     ^'1 


'■'•. 


"  Well,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "  the  game's  up." 

"  Has  the  strike  ended,  father  ? "  she  asked,  her 
voice  quavering. 

"Actually,  no;  practically,  yes.  The  firm  will  give 
in  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  resign.     Sorry?" 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  are,  father,"  said  Edna,  kneeling 
beside  him.  "I  am  not  sorry  that  the  tension  has 
ended,  for  I  think  anything  is  better  than  the  anxiety 
you  have  been  undergoing  for  the  past  few  weeks. 
And  you  look  positively  ill  to-night." 

"  Yes.  A  man  hates  to  be  beaten.  Well,  I'm 
fairly  knocked  out,  and  if  there  is  any  comf  jrt  in  a 
decisive  beating,  I  have  it." 

**  What  has  happened  ?  " 

*'  You  see,  Edna,  in  the  pictures  of  a  battle,  we 
always  have  the  horses  galloping,  the  men  firing,  or 
being  shot,  or  cutting  down  their  enemies  with  the 
sword ;  but  we  rarely  get  a  view  of  the  background, 
and  so  people  sometimes  do  not  know  that  it  exists : 
yet  the  picture  shows  merely  the  front  of  the  fight,  as 
it  were,  while  battles  are  often  won  by  perfect  arrange- 
ments in  the  rear, — the  supply  of  ammunition,  the  food 
and  water  carriers  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Well,  a 
strike  is  like  a  battle ;  there  are  other  things  to  con- 
sider than  the  actual  fighting,  and  these  things  often 
decide  the  day.  The  direct  loss  in  a  struggle  of  this 
kind  is  nothing  to  the  mdirect  loss.  We  see  trade 
slipping  away  from  us  and  going  to  our  bitterest 
rivals.  Some  of  our  customers  may  come  back  ;  others 
won't.  Then  we  are  unable  to  fulfil  contracts  we  have 
made,  and,  as  a  strike  can  hardly  be  called  an  act  of 
God,  we  are  liable  to  have  damages  awarded  against 
us  where  no  strike  clause  has  been  inserted  in  the 
agreement.  All  this  I  have  had  to  fight  as  well  as 
the  strikers  themselves.  Then  there  is  great  difficulty 
in  filling  up  the  shops — nsuch  more  than  I  expected. 
During  the  last  week  I  have  been  slowly  Ir  *ng 
ground  with  the  directors.  They  haven't  said  very 
.much,  but  I  have  felt  it-     It  was  in  the  air  somehow 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


349 


that  we  were  fighting  a  losing  battle,  and  so  things 
have  been  on  the  balance,  and  the  only  reason  the 
directors  did  not  give  in  a  week  ago  was  they  knew  I 
would  resign  if  they  did  so.  It  only  required  a  straw 
to  turn  the  scales  against  me.  Some  time  before  the 
strike  began,  a  steamer  sailed  for  Sydney,  New  South 
Wales.  It  had  a  large  quantity  of  our  goods  on 
board.  To-day  I  received  notice  from  the  owners  that 
the  ship  lay  there  and  could  not  be  unloaded  because 
of  our  strike.  They  propose  to  hold  us  responsible 
for  the  delay,  and  that  will  mean  an  expensive  law- 
suit whichever  way  the  verdict  goes.  This  is  serious 
enough  in  itself,  but  the  fact  that  we  have  been  struck 
from  the  remotest  ends  of  the  earth  while  being 
paralyzed  in  London  will  make  the  directors  give  in 
at  once.     So,  my  girl,  I'm  a  beaten  man." 

'*  But  might  you  not  have  been  btaten  in  any  case?" 

"  No ;  another  week  would  have  seen  the  men 
back — I  am  sure  of  it.  They  are  seething  with  dis- 
content, and  have  called  a  meeting  for  to-morrow 
night,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  Marsten.  There  is 
sure  to  be  a  split,  and  all  I  need  is  a  slight  defection 
to  set  the  works  going  again." 

"Why  need  you  resign,  father?  You  have  done 
your  best,  and  the  directors  know  it." 

"  Ah,  my  girl,  you  are  sleepy  ;  I  can  see  that,  or 
you  wouldn't  ask  such  a  question.  But  now  you 
know  all  about  it,  so  off  you  go." 

In  the  morning  Edna  walked  with  her  father  to  the 
station. 

"  Is  there  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  directors  to-day?" 
she  asked. 

"  Yes.     It  is  called  for  five  o'clock  this  evening." 

"  Do  you  think  the  strike  v.  ould  end  if  they  gave 
you  another  week?" 

"  I  feel  morally  certain  it  would.  There  is  sure  to 
be  a  split  at  to-night's  meeting  of  the  men.  You  see 
it  is  called  in  direct  opposition  to   Marsten's  wishes, 


*"▼ 


350 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


f^-' 


^\  i 


i 


and  that  shows  he  is  losing  whatever  hold  he  ever  had 
on  the  strikers." 

"  Then  wouldn't  you  be  justified  in  saying  nothing 
about  this  communication  from  the  shipowners  until 
the  next  directors'  meeting?  You  would  know  by 
that  time  what  the  result  of  the  strikers'  meeting  was." 

**  My  dear  Edna,  you  make  proposals  that  take 
away  a  man's  breath.  No,  that  wouldn't  do.  The 
directors  must  have  full  information.  I  could  not 
take  the  responsibility  of  holding  back  anything  that 
bore  on  their  interests,  whatever  might  be  the  result 
to  myself ;  but  I  can't  help  wishing  the  message  had 
gone  astray  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  I  am  going  to  the  office  at  six  o'clock  to-night, 
father." 

Sartwell  laughed,  but  in  a  mirthless,  despondent 
manner. 

**  Hadn't  you  better  come  at  five  and  give  the  c'i- 
rectors  your  opinion  of  them?  I'm  sure  it  wouldn't 
be  very  flattering." 

"  You  mustn't  make  fun  ot  me,  father.  The  situa- 
tion is  very  serious,  and  I  couldn't  bear  the  suspense 
of  waiting  until  you  came  home.  I  must  know  what 
happens,  so  please  don't  forbid  me.  Besides,  it  may 
be  your  last  night  there,  and  I  should  like  to  bring 
you  home  with  me." 

"  Oh,  it  won't  be  my  last  night.  I  shall  not  leave 
the  old  firm  like  that.  I  shall  stay  until  the  new 
manager  is  installed  and  everything  running  smoothly. 
Even  though  a  man  is  defeated,  Edna,  he  owes  it  to 
himself  to  retreat  in  good  order,  and  sometimes  a 
masterly  retreat  is  as  good  a  bit  of  generalship  as  a 
victory.  As  everything  is  pertectly  quiet,  you  may 
come  if  you  are  anxious,  as  of  course  you  are ;  or  I 
could  telegraph  3^ou,  if  you  would  rather.  But  it  is  a 
foregone  conclusion,  I  am  sure  of  that.  Whenever 
they  see  this  message,  and  learn  there  has  been  little 
progress  made  in  filling  up  the  works,  they  will  suc- 
cumb— and   I   don't  know  that  I   can  blame  them. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


351 


They  have  vast  interests  at  stake,  and  they  have 
backed  me  well  up  to  the  present,  when,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,  they  would  have  given  in  long  ago. 
Then  I  shall  look  for  you  at  six,  my  dear.  Take  a 
hansom  from  the  station,  and  ask  the  man  to  wait  in 
the  yard  of  the  works.  Wait  for  me  in  my  room  if  I 
happen  to  be  absent  when  you  come.  I  shall  tell  the 
commissionaire  to  look  after  you." 

The  girl  watched  the  train  come  in  and  leave  ;  then, 
turning,  she  walked  towards  her  home  with  a  heavy 
heart.  She  went  past  the  house  and  on  to  the  Com- 
mon, unconsciously  imitating  her  father,  who,  when 
troubled  in  mind,  sought  its  breezy  expanse.  Several 
times  she  paused,  and  thought  of  sending  a  telegram 
to  Marsten,. asking  him  to  meet  her  in  the  old  garden 
at  Wimbledon  at  once.  There  she  fancied  herself  ap- 
pealing to  him  to  put  an  end  to  the  strike  ;  but  she 
feared  the  anger  of  her  father  should  he  discover  what 
she  had  done,  even  though  it  had  been  done  for  his 
sake.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  perhaps  the  ap- 
peal might  be  in  vain,  for  she  knew  she  would  do  any- 
thing asked  of  her  for  one  she  loved,  and  she  had 
little  dcubt  that  the  young  man  had  a  true  and  last- 
ing affection  for  her.  What,  she  asked  herself,  if 
Marsten  made  conditions  ?  Would  she  be  willing  to 
accept  a  great  favour  and  grant  nothing  in  return  ? 
What  would  he  think  if  she  telegraphed  him  to  come  ? 
The  answer  was  obvious,  and,  in  searching  her  own 
heart,  she  for  the  first  time  admitted  to  herself  that 
her  reply  would  be  different  from  what  it  had  been  at 
Eastbourne. 

But  when  it  came  to  the  point,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  the  length  of  sending  a  message.  She 
shrank  from  playing  so  dangerous  a  card ;  for,  if  it 
failed  to  win  the  trick,  how  could  she  face  the  after- 
humiliation?  Something  in  the  self-reliant  ring  of 
Marsten's  voice,  something  in  the  dogged  determina- 
tion of  his  manner,  something  in  the  compelling  glance 
of  his  eye,  warned  her  that  not  even  to  please  the  girl 


352 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


he  loved  would  he  be  untrue  to  the  flag  under  which 
he  fought — and  something  in  her  own  heart  told  her 
that  she  herself  would  think  less  of  him  if  he  did. 
Yet,  if  he  refused,  she  could  never  speak  to  him  again ; 
she  was  certain  of  that.  Having  made  an  appeal  in 
vain,  she  could  never  grant  one  of  his  own,  or  even 
listen  to  it.  She  thought  of  the  pleasure  it  would  be 
to  her  to  have  him  plead  his  cause  once  more,  and  read 
his  answer  in  her  willing  eyes  before  her  lips  could 
speak  it ;  but  if  he  refused  her  when  she  begged  him 
to  spare  her  father  iui.  impending  humiliation  of  de- 
feat, there  could  be  no  more  friendship  between  them. 
Edna  at  last  returned  to  her  home,  bewildered  in 
mind  and  hesitating  to  act,  and  listened  to  a  homily 
on  the  sinfulness  of  wasting  one's  time,  although  she 
heard  or  understood  but  little  of  the  admirable  dis- 
course. 

As  evening  drew  on  the  girl  became  more  and  more 
anxious,  and  impatiently  awaited  the  hour  that  was 
to  take  her  to  London.  She  half  expected  a  telegram 
from  her  father,  but  as  none  came  she  knew  the  situ- 
ation had  not  changed  for  the  better.  Shortly  after 
six  o'clock  her  hansom  drove  into  the  yard  of  the 
works  ;  the  gatekeeper  was  evidently  on  the  watch 
for  her,  and  had  the  gates  open,  closing  them  after 
her.  The  silent,  deserted  air  of  the  huge  place  had  a 
most  depressing  influence  on  her  as  she  mounted  the 
stairs  that  led  to  her  father's  oflice.  He  was  standing 
at  his  desk  as  she  entered,  entirely  alone,  and  looked 
round  absent-mindedly  when  he  heard  the  door  open. 

"Well,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "you  have  come  to  help 
pack,  after  all." 

"  If  there  must  be  packing,  I  am  ready  to  help, 
father." 

'*  I'm  afraid  that's  all  there's  left  to  do.  dear.  But 
we're  not  going  to  show  the  white  feather,  are  we? 
I've  just  been  planning  a  lovely  little  tour  on  the 
Continent  for  you  and  me,  where  we  shall  forget,  for 
a  time,  that  there  is  such  an  ugly  thing  as  a  strike  in 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


353 


the  whole  world.  You'll  be  a  princess,  and  I'll  be 
the  old  dethroned  king;  they  always  went  to  the 
Continent,  you  know,  after  a  defeat." 

Sartwell's  attempt  at  banter  was  a  gloomy  failure, 
and  he  avoided  his  daughter's  eye,  pretending  to  be 
sorting  out  some  papers.  She  saw  how  hard  hit  he 
was,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Is  the  directors'  meeting  over?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

"  No.  They  are  in  there  yet,  arranging  the  terms  of 
surrender — or  hardly  that,  for  there  are  no  terms. 
They  simply  give  the  men  all  they  ask — which,  of 
course,  they  might  have  done  a  month  ago,  and  saved 
all  this  bother.  I  knew  how  it  would  be  when  they 
heard  about  the  ship  lying  unloaded  in  Australia. 
There  was  not  an  ounce  of  fight  left  in  them,  and  I 
felt  sure  a  blow  dealt  so  far  away  would  appeal  to 
what  little  imagination  any  of  them  has.  It  seems  to 
them  decisive,  but  of  course  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind. 
It  is  merely  a  theatrical  bit  of  by-play  that  should 
have  no  bearing  on  the  result.  But  there  is  little  use 
in  kicking  against  fate.  They  are  at  this  moment 
engaged  in  writing  out  their  letter  of  capitulation — as 
it  it  made  any  difference  how  you  worded  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  defeat  and  a  surrender  of  your  in- 
terests to  a  lot  of  ignorant,  beer-drinking  boors  who 

don't but  what  is   the  use  of   cursing?     Another 

week  of  this  indecision  would  have  demoralized  me  ; 
in  fact,  I  think  it  has  done  so  already,  for  I  don't 
generally  growl." 

**  Will  you  come  home  with  me,  father?  " 

"  No,  my  dear.  I  shouldn't  have  let  you  come  all 
this  distance  merely  to  hear  what  we  both  knew  this 
morning.  Run  along  home,  like  a  good  little  girl, 
and  don't  sit  up  for  me  to-night.  I'll  be  late.  Of 
course,  in  spite  of  my  scolding,  I'll  stay  till  the  last 
dog's  hung.  I'll  see  the  thing  through,  and  wave  the 
white  flag  myself.  It  wouldn't  be  quite  the  thing, 
you  know,  to  have  all  the  fun  of  the  fight  and  then 
funk  the  subniission.     I  merely  came  into  this  room 


f— n«f^»'— 


54 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


HM,: 


.*'■■' 

4 


p 


•*! 


because  you  were  due  at  six,  and  to  rest  my  nerves  a 
bit.  I'm  going  back  to  the  directors,  and  will  write 
the  letter  of  surrender  myself ;  for  they  will  never 
summon  up  courage  enough  to  do  even  that  if  I 
am  not  at  their  elbows.  I'm  going  down  with  the 
ship,   my   girl,    pretending  I    like  it ;  so  off   you   go, 

Edna,  and  we'll  feel  all  right  about  it  next  week 

perhaps." 

Haggard  as  he  looked  the  night  before,  Edna  now 
noticed,  with  a  thrill  of  fear,  that  for  the  first  time  he 
seemed  an  old  man.  His  usually  well-set  shoulders 
were  bent,  and  even  his  neatly-fitting  clothes  hung 
loosely  about  him.  The  hesitation  and  the  tone 
in  which  he  said  the  last  word,  "  perhaps,"  showed 
her  like  an  electric  flash  what  was  in  his  own  mind, 
and  what  had  never  occurred  to  her  before,- — that  when 
he  was  suddenly  wrenched  away  from  the  task  that 
had  been  his  life's  work,  he  would  break  up  in  idle- 
ness like  a  useless  hulk  on  the  rocks. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  "  don't  let  them  send  that 
letter  till  to-morrow.  A  day  more  or  less  makes  no 
difference,  and  they  will  keep  it  back  if  you  ask  them 
to." 

Sartwell  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  no  use  in  delay,"  he  said.  "It  has  al. 
ways  been  my  habit  to  do  quickly  what  had  to  be 
done,  and  I  am  getting  too  old  to  change  my  habits. 
If  you  must  walk  the  plank,  walk  it,  and  get  it  over." 

The  girl  did  not  urge  him  further,  but  kissed  him 
and  said,  "  Good-night."  He  saw  her  into  the  han- 
som, and  told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  Waterloo.  At 
the  first  turning  Edna  pushed  up  the  little  trap-doo** 
in  the  roof  of  the  cab. 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  headquarters  of  the 
strikers  are?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  miss.     At  the  Salvation  Hall,  miss.' 

"  Well,  drive  me  there  as  quickly  as  you  can.' 

The  cabby  turned  his  horse  and  in  a  short  time  was 
making  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  men  who  were 


** 


'  n 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


355 


gathering  from  all  quarters  to  the  meeting.  He  drew 
up  at  the  kerb  in  front  of  the  hall.  Edna  stepped 
out,  flushing  as  she  saw  the  men  looking  curiously  at 
her.     She  said  to  one  : 

"  Where  can  I  find  Mr.  Marsten  ?  " 

"  re's  in  his  room  at  the  back  of  the  'all,  ma'am. 
This  wye,  ma'am.     I'll  show  you  the  door." 

Edna  followed  the  man  down  the  long,  narrow  pas- 
sage at  the  side  of  the  hall. 

"  For  God's  sake,  mates,  what's  the  meaning  of 
this  ?  "  cried  Gibbons,  in  amazement,  taking  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth. 

Some  of  the  men  laughed,  but  Gibbons  looked 
serious,  and  they  saw  that  there  was  more  in  the  in- 
cident than  appeared  on  the  surface. 

"  Who  is  it  she  wants  to  see  ? "  cried  Gibbons,  as 
the  man  appeared  who  had  led  the  girl  down  the  pas- 
sage. 

"  She  arsked  for  Marsten.     She's  in  with  him  now." 

"  Look  here,  mates,"  cried  Gibbons.  "  What  have  I 
been  telling  you  ?  We're  sold,  or  I'm  a  Dutchman  ! 
That  girl  is  Sartwell's  daughter,  and  I'll  warrant  she 
has  come  direct  from  him.  I  say,  cabby,  did  you 
drive  that  young  lady  here  from  the  works  ?  " 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?  You're  not  paying  my 
fare,"  answered  the  cabman,  with  characteristic  dis- 
regard of  the  threatening  crowd. 

"  He  came  from  the  works ;  I  saw  him,"  said  one 
of  the  men. 

"  Let's  get  inside,  and  call  this  meeting  to  order," 
cried  Gibbons,  decisively. 


m 


"■4 


>i 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Edna  rapped  lightly  on  the  door  at  the  back  of  the 
Salvation  Hall,  and  heard  Marsten's  voice  shout 
"Come  in."  After  a  moment's  hesitation  she 
opened  the  door  and  entered.  The  young  man  was 
alone,  sitting  at  the  rough  board  table,  with  some 
papers  before  him,  writing  rapidly  with  a  pencil.  He 
seemed  absorbed  in  his  work,  and  kept  his  head  bent 
over  it,  saying  shortly  : 

''Well,  what  is  it?" 

Edna  stood  with  her  back  against  the  door ;  she 
tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  Her  heart  was  beating 
so  rapidly  that  it  seemed  to  choke  her,  and  her  lips 
were  dry.  The  murmur  of  numerous  voices  came 
through  the  uhin  board  partitions  from  the  main  hall, 
with  the  noise  of  the  shuffling  of  many  feet.  Marsten 
continued  to  write  quickly;  then  suddenly  he  lifted 
his  head  with  a  jerk,  stared  incredulously  in  the  gath- 
ering darkness,  and  sprang  to  his  feet, 

'*  My  God — Edna  !  "  he  cried,  and  seemed  about  to 
advance  towards  her ;  but  she  raised  her  hand,  and  he 
stood  by  the  table  with  his  knuckles  resting  upon  it. 

"  I  came "     She  spoke  in  a  whisper,  so  husky  and 

unnatural  that  it  seemed  to  her  the  voice  belonged 

to  some  one  else.     "  I  came to  speak  to  you 

about  the  strike." 

"Yes?" 

"  It  must  stop." 

"  It  will  stop  within  a  day  or  two.  Monkton  & 
Hope  are  defeated." 

•'  You  mean  that  my  father  is  defeated.  It  is  kill- 
ing him,  I  can  see  that,  although  he  tries  — -     He  doeu 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


357 


lack  of  the 
)ice  shout 
ation  she 
T  man  was 
vith  some 
encil.  He 
head  bent 


door ;  she 
^as  beating 
nd  her  lips 
Dices    came 

main  hall, 

Marsten 

y  he  lifted 

n  the  gath- 

d  about  Lo 
lud,  and  he 
g  upon  it. 
)  husky  and 
e  belonged 
o  you 


^onkton  & 

It  is  kill- 
He  docij 


not  know  I  have  come  here.  I  came  of  my  own  ac- 
cord because  you If  you  will  get  the  men  to  go 

back,  I  give  you  my  word  that  he  will  grant  all  you 
are  fighting  for.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not  make 
it  hard  for  him.  The  men  do  not  care  as  long  as  they 
get  what  they  want.     Will  you  do  this?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  I  am  to  call  the  strike  off  and  pre- 
tend that  the  men  are  defeated  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  will  be  all  the  same  in  the  end." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  do  that." 

**  Why  ?  The  men  do  not  care  as  long  as  they  get 
what  they  ask.  With  my  father  it  is  different.  He 
is  breaking  down.  I  know  I  am  asking  a  great  deal  of 
you,  for  you  feel  as  he  does,  and  want  to  win  as  badly 
as  he  does ;  but  he  is  old,  and  you  are  young.  You 
have  all  the  world  before  you.  What  need  you  care, 
then,  whether  you  win  this  strike  or  not?  There  are 
other  strikes  for  you  to  win,  but  he — he  is  fighting 
his  last  battle." 

Her  voice  had  become  clearer  and  more  like  itself 
as  she  earnestly  pleaded  for  her  father.  Some  one  in 
the  main  building  had  started  a  rollicking  music-hall 
song  then  as  infectious  as  an  epidemic  on  the  streets 
of  London.  The  whole  house  had  joined  in  the  swing- 
ing chorus,  beating  time  with  the  tramp  of  many  feet. 
Neither  of  the  two  appeared  to  hear  the  song,  but  both 
raised  their  voices  slightly  to  make  themselves  heard 
above  the  sound. 

"  I  care  nothing  for  any  personal  triumph — nothing  at 
all,"  said  ^.Tarsten.  "  If  I  could  change  places  with 
your  father  and  accept  defeat  for  him  I  willinrl} 
would.     But  the  men  have  trusted  me " 

"  The  men  !  "  cried  Edna,  the  scarlet  chasing  the 
whiteness  from  her  checks  as  her  eyes  flashed  and  her 
voice  rose.  "  What  do  the  men  care  ?  Listen  to 
them  !  "  She  waved  her  hand  toward  the  hall.  ''  They 
would  sing  and  shout  like  that  if  their  best  friend  was 
dying.  Who  has  done  more  for  his  men  than  my 
father?     He  risked  his  life  for  them  at  the  fire,  and 


•    r 


m 


358 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


■'>>,, 


i^'^H 


^4, 


'11 


■!n 


A; 

"^1 


If 


would  do  so  again.  He  has  built  up  the  works  that 
have  given  them  employment.  He  has  kept  the  shops 
full  at  a  loss  when  times  were  bad,  so  that  they  might 
not  starve.  Every  man  ws:  sure  of  his  place  as  long 
as  he  deserved  it,  and  no  master  in  London  was  more 
loath  than  he  to  discharge  a  man."  She  cast  down  her 
eyes  as  she  suddenly  remembered  that  one  man  had 
been  discharged  without  cause  by  her  father;  then, 
without  raising  them,  she  pleaded  again  :  "  Why  will 
not  a  real  victory,  without  the  name  of  it,  satisfy 
you?" 

"  Because  it  is  not  for  these  men  alone  who  are  now 
shouting  that  I  am  fighting.  The  eyes  of  all  England 
are  on  this  strike.  An  acknowledged  victory  over  so 
strong  a  firm  as  that  of  Monkton  &  Hope  will  mean 
an  easier  victory  for  every  man  who  is  now  earning  his 
bread  in  this  country,  when  he  is  compelled  to  strike 
for  his  just  due.  It  will  hearten  every  workingman 
and  be  a  war   'ng  to  every  employer." 

The  chorus  in  the  hall  was  broken  by  three  sharp 
raps  of  a  mallet  on  a  table.  The  sound  of  the  singing 
subsided,  and  the  voice  of  some  one  calling  the  meet- 
ing to  order  was  heard. 

Edna  slowly  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him,  with 
a  flash  of  fearing  defiance  in  them.  She  spoke  in  an 
agitated  whisper. 

"  You  remember  what  you  said  to  me  in  the  garden 
at  Eastbourne.  If  you  will  do  what  I  ask  of  you,  I 
will  do  as  you  wish  when — when  you  ask  me." 

The  young  man,  his  trembling  right  hand  clenching 
and  unclenching  nervously,  strode  a  step  forward. 

*'  No,  no  !  "  she  cried.  '*  Stay  where  you  are.  An- 
swer me,  answer  me  !  " 

**  Oh,  Edna,"  he  whispered,  "  God  knows  I  would 
do  anything  to  win  yon, — anything, — yes,  almost  what 
you  ask  !  " 

"Yes,  or  no?"  she  cried.     "  Answer  me  !  " 

"  I  cannot  be  a  traitor  to  the  men  !  " 

As  if  in  approval   of  this  sentiment,  a  cheer  rose 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


359 


rks  that 
le  shops 
:y  might 
as  long 
as  more 
iownher 
man  had 
:r;  then, 
Nhy  will 
:,  satisfy 

I  are  now 
England 
r  over  so 
mil  mean 
irning  his 
to  strike 
rkingman 

ree  sharp 
le  singing 
the  meet- 

him,  with 
ke  in  an 

,e   garden 
lof   you,  I 

Iclenching 

^ard. 
lare.     An- 

I  would 
lost  what 


heer  rose 


from  the  hall.  Some  one  was  speaking,  and  even  in 
his  misery  Marsten  recognized  the  voice  of  Gibbons. 

Edna  turned  without  a  word  and  opened  the  door. 
Marsten  followed  her  out. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  she  said,  with  a  sob. 

"I  will  see  you  to  the  station." 

"  No  ;  you  must  not  come  near  me.  I  hope  never 
to  see  you  again." 

"  I  will  see  you  to  the  station,"  repeated  Marsten, 
doggedly. 

The  girl  said  nothing  more,  but  walked  hurriedly 
down  the  narrow  passage,  the  young  man  following 
her.  She  sprang  into  the  waiting  hansom,  crying. 
"Waterloo;  quick!" 

The  cab  whirled  away,  leaving  Marsten  standing 
bareheaded  on  the  kerb.  He  remained  there  for 
some  moments,  gazing  in  the  direction  the  cab  had 
taken,  then  turned  with  a  sigh  and  walked  slowly  up 
the  passage  to  his  room.  It  seemed  more  bare  and 
empty  than  ever  it  had  been  before,  and  he  could  hardly 
realize  that,  a  few  short  moments  since,  she  had  stood 
within  it.  He  heard,  without  heeding,  the  noise  from 
the  hall,  like  the  low  growl  of  some  wild  beast.  He 
looked  at  the  papers  on  the  table,  wrinkling  his  brow 
trying  to  understand  what  they  were  all  about.  It  ap- 
peared ages  since  he  sat  there  writing — now  he  heard 
nothing  but  the  words  "Answer  me  !  "  ringing  in  his 
ears.  He  was  startled  by  another  knock  at  the  door 
and  sprang  towa.  Js  it,  throwing  it  eagerly  open,  hop- 
ing she  had  returned.  Monkton  &  Hope's  tall,  griz- 
zled commissionaire,  in  his  uniform,  with  the  medal 
dangling  from  his  breast,  stood  there,  perhaps  aston- 
ished at  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door,  but  not  a 
muscle  of  his  face  showing  his  surprise.  He  saluted 
gravely. 

"  A  letter  from  the  firm,  sir." 

"  Ah  !     Step  inside.     Any  answer  required  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  commissionaire, 
standing  as  straight  and  as  rigid  as  if  on  parade. 


360 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'    111 


■'  *,f 


Iv 


fti' 


K" 


«it: 


»1E 


»:i 


''*^'^i 
•^m... 


i, 


"^: 


Marsten  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  the  reading  of 
the  letter  brought  him  to  his  senses.  It  was  a  terse 
communication,  and  informed  him  that  Monkton  & 
Hope  agreed  to  the  terms  of  the  men.  Mr.  Sartwell 
would  wait  at  his  ofifice  until  ten  o'clock  to  meet  Mr. 
Marsten  and  arrange  for  the  opening  of  the  works  in 
the  morning. 

Marsten  dashed  off  an  of^cial  reply,  and  said  he 
would  wait  on  Mr.  Sartwell  in  half  an  hour's  time. 
Giving  this  note  to  the  commissionaire,  who  again 
saluted  and  withdrew,  Marsten,  with  the  letter  in  his 
hand,  opened  the  door  that  communicated  with  the 
platform  and  stepped  out  in  the  sight  of  the  meeting. 
A  howl  of  derision  greeted  his  appearance,  and  the 
howl  of  an  angry  mob  is  a  sound  that,  once  heard,  a 
man  never  vvishes  to  hear  again. 

*'  There  he  is,"  shouted  Gibbons,  whose  speech  Mar- 
sten's  entrance  had  evidently  interrupted.  *'  There  he 
is,  and  let  him  deny  it  if  he  can  !  " 

**  Deny  what?"  cried  Marsten. 

"  Deny  that  you  have  been  in  communication  with 
the  enemy  !  Deny  that  Sartwell's  daughter  has  only 
this  moment  left  you  !  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  you,  nor  with  this 
strike.  England  is  a  free  country ;  a  man  may  talk 
with  whom  he  pleases." 

"  He  can't  deny  it !  "  shouted  Gibbons,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  "There  were  too  many  witnesses  this 
time.  She  didn't  know  that  a  meeting  was  gathering. 
Where  now  is  the  man  at  the  back  of  the  hall  who 
cried  out  it  was  a  lie?  I  told  you  I  would  prove  it  by 
Marsten  himself." 

**  Let  me  read  you  this  letter,"  cried  Marsten,  wav- 
ing in  his  hand  the  letter  from  the  firm,  to  command 
attention.  He  saw  the  crowd  was  in  that  dangerous 
state  of  excitement  which  requires  but  an  injudicious 
word  to  precipitate  a  riot.  His  own  friends,  evidently 
abashed  by  his  admission,  were  at  the  back  of  the 
hall,    sil(Mit    and    disconcerted.     The    Gibbons    gang 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


361 


wading  of 
5  a  terse 
)nkton  & 

Sartwell 
meet  Mr. 

works  in 

i  said  he 
ur's  time. 
rho  again 
ter  in  his 
with  the 
i  meeting, 
i,  and  the 
e  heard,  a 

)eech  Mar- 
"  There  he 


at  ion  with 
r  has  only 

with  this 
may  talk 

the  top  of 
losses  this 
[gathering, 
hall  who 
)rove  it  by 

-stcn,  wav- 
command 
dangerous 
injudicious 
evidently 
lick  of  the 
)ons    gang 


were  massed  in  front,  wildly  gesticulating,  and  vocifer- 
ous with  taunts  and  threats.  They  were  loudly  call- 
ing upon  him  to  get  down  from  the  platform.  He 
saw,  too,  that  the  old  committee  and  others  of  Gib- 
bons's  partisans  were  on  the  platform  behind  him, 
many  standing  up  with  their  eyes  on  Gibbons,  and  the 
situation  reminded  him  of  the  time  when  Braunt  had 
been  kicked  off  the  platform  and  thrust  outside. 

"  Let  me  read  this  letter,"  he  repeated. 

"Presently,  presently,"  said  Gibbons.  "You  will 
have  your  opportunity  later  on.  I  have  the  floor  just 
now." 

*'  I  am  secretary  of  the  Union,"  persisted  Marsten, 
**  and  I  demand  a  hearing.  After  that  you  may  do  as 
you  please." 

Here  the  chairman  rose  and  called  loudly: 

"Order,  order!  Mr.  Gibbons  has  the  floor.  I  may 
add  for  Mr.  Marsten's  information,  since  he  chose  to 
absent  himself  from  the  meeting  knowing  it  was  in 
session,  that  Mr.  Gibbons  has  been  made  secretary 
of  the  Union  by  a  practically  unanimous  vote,  and  I 
ask  Mr.  Marsten  to  leave  the  platform  until  he  is 
called  upon  to  speak." 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  the  firm  !  "  shouted  Marsten, 
trying  to  lift  his  voice  above  the  uproar. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  howls,  and  roars  of  "  Chair, 
Chair  !  "  "  Come  down  !  "  One  of  the  men  behind 
Marsten  pushed  him  toward  the  edge  of  the  platform, 
crying,  "  Obey  the  Chair!"  This  was  the  signal  for 
a  general  onset,  and,  Marsten  grappling  with  the  fore- 
most of  his  assailants,  both  went  down  together  to 
the  main  floor.  Instantly  the  meeting  broke  into  an 
unmanageable  mob,  while  Gibbons  roared,  "No  vio- 
lence, men  !  "  and  ineffectually  waved  his  arms  over  the 
turbulent,  seething,  struggling  mass.  His  appeals  were 
as  futile  as  Canute's  commands  to  the  sea.  The  chair- 
man pounded  unheard  on  the  table  with  his  mallet. 
Once  Marsten  shook  himself  free  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
His  right  hand,  with  the  tattered  letter  still  clenched 


p 


362 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


'itn.,' 


»H' 


in  it,  appeared  above  the  heads  of  the  combatants  for 
a  moment,  then  it  suddenly  disappeared,  and  he  went 
down  finally  under  the  feet  of  the  maddened,  tram- 
pling horde. 

The  police  struck  in  promptly  and  with  effect. 
The  side  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Marsten  was 
dragged  out  through  it,  accompanied  by  several  strug- 
gling, torn,  and  bleeding  rioters  who  had  been  nabbed 
by  the  law.  Gradually  the  pounding  on  the  table  be- 
came audible,  and  Gibbons's  voice,  now  hoarse  with 
useless  calling  for  peace,  could  be  heard. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  began,  '*  that  there  has  been  even 
a  semblance  of  a  disturbance  1  ere  to-night.  It  will  be 
used  by  our  enemies  against  us  ;  but,  as  you  know,  it  all 
came  about  through  disobedience  to  the  Chair.  I  want 
to  say  nothing  against  an  absent  man,  and  I  am  sure 
we  all  hope  he  has  not  been  hurt  [cheers] ;  but  if  our 
ex-secretary  had  calmly  bowed  to  the  will  of  the 
meeting,  and  had  refrained  from  laying  hands  on  the 
man  who  merely  requested  him  to  obey  the  Chair,  this 
deplorable  event  would  not  have  occurred.  When, 
after  the  last  strike,  you  lost  confidence  in  me,  I 
bowed  to  the  will  of  the  majority  without  a  murmur, 
and,  as  you  all  know,  I  have  done  my  best,  ever  since, 
to  assist  my  successor  ;  and  now  that  I  have  been 
called  again  to  this  position,  through  no  wish  of  mine, 
I  have  but  to  obey  the  mandate  thus  given.  I  take 
it  that  it  is  your  pleasure  that  this  strike  shall  now 
cease.  Although  I  have  never  said  so,  I  always 
looked  upon  the  present  strike  as  an  unnecessary  one, 
and  unjust.  The  firm,  a  short  time  since,  voluntarily 
increased  our  wages,  and  this  strrr^gle  has  conse- 
quently never  had  the  sympathy  of  the  public,  with- 
out which  no  great  struggle  can  succeed.  I  do  not 
venture  to  offer  suggestions,  but  if  any  one  here  has 
a  suggestion  to  make,  I  now  give  place  to  him." 

Gibbons  did  love  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  it 
apparently  gave  pleasure  to  the  majority  present,  for 
they  loudly  cheered  all  his  noble  sentiments. 


''mkM 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


363 


A  man  promptly  arose  to  his  feet,  and  said  it  had 
lately  been  only  too  evident  that  Marsten  had  brought 
on  this  strike  to  further  his  own  advancement,  using 
the  men,  who  trusted  him,  as  tools  for  that  purpose. 
Gibbons  had  said  nothing  on  this  point,  but  they  all 
felt  sore  about  it  nevertheless ;  and  although  he  ad- 
mired Gibbons's  good  heart  in  refusing  to  say  a  word 
against  a  fallen  enemy,  still  the  matter  ought  to  be 
referred  to.  He  moved  that  Gibbons  be  appointed  to 
meet  Sartwell  as  soon  as  possible  and  arrange  terms 
for  going  back,  getting,  if  he  could,  a  promise  that  the 
"  blacklegs  "  be  discharged.  There  would  be  general 
satisfaction  if  this  promise  could  be  secured. 

This  was  seconded,  and  carried  unanimously.  Once 
more  Gibbons  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  A  messenger  I  sent  off  a  few  moments  ago  reports 
that  Sartwell  is  still  in  his  office.  He  has  been  stay- 
ing late  for  some  time  past,  so  it  struck  me  he  might 
be  there  now.  I  will  go  at  once  and  confer  with  him, 
and  w"U  return  as  soon  as  possible  and  give  you  the 
result  of  the  conference.  Meanwhile  you  can  transact 
any  Ol     1   business  that  may  come  before  the  meet- 


ing. 


Sartwell,  alone  in  his  office,  expecting  Marsten,  was 
naturally  surprised   when    Gibbons   entered    instead 
but  he  greeted  the  new-comer  without  showing  that 
his  visit  was  unlooked  for. 

"  Mr.  Sartwell,"  began  Gibbons,  going  straight  to 
the  point,  "  I  have  again  been  made  secretary  of  the 
Union.  If  I  end  this  strike  will  you  make  me  assist- 
ant manager?  " 

Sartwell's  eyes  partially  closed,  and  he  looked 
keenly  at  his  visitor  through  the  narrow  slits  for  a 
moment  or  two  before  answering. 

Gibbons  fidgeted  uneasily. 

"  We  all  play  for  our  own  hand,  you  know,"  the 
new  secretary  added,  laughing  uncomfortably,  "  and 
I  know  that  with  you  it  is  better  to  say  out  what  one 
means." 


3^4 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


ita^.'VV 


: 


**  We  all  play  for  our  own  hand, — yes,"  said  Sartwell, 
slowly.     "  Can  you  end  the  strike  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

*'You  only  think  so.  Well,  Mr.  Gibbons,  come 
back  to  me  when  you  are  sure,  and  I  will  talk  to  you." 

"  I  am  sure,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  different  matter.  The  meeting,  then, 
after  making  you  secretary,  passed  a  resolution  to  end 
the  strike  ?  " 

**  Hardly  that,  Mr.  Sartwell.  It  has  authorized  me 
to  negotiate  with  you.  Now,  if  you  promise  me  the 
assistant  managersliip,  I  will  bring  the  men  back  to* 
morrow." 

"The  strike  was  bound  to  end  soon  without  any 
promises  f  om  me.  I  sent  a  communication  to  Mars- 
ten  to-night  regarding  it.  Do  you  mean  to  hint  that 
he  has  not  read  it  to  the  meeting?  " 

*'  He  did  not.  He  tried  to,  but  the  men  had  enough 
of  Marsten,  and  they  refused  to  listen." 

"  Quite  so.  Then  it  is  with  you  alone  I  have  to 
deal  ?     Marsten  is  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  state  of  the  case." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  offer  you  the  assistant 
managership ;  although,  of  course,  I  hope  the  strike 
will  end  as  speedily  as  possible." 

*'  Marsten  said  you  offered  it  to  him;  is  that  true?" 

"  I  think  Marsten  generally  speaks  the  truth.  Let 
us  stop  beating  about  the  bush.  Gibbons.  The  men 
to-night  have  either  resolved  *;o  come  back,  or  they 
have  not.  If  they  are  coming  back,  they  will  come 
whether  I  deal  with  you  or  not.  If  not,  then  I  don't 
see  how  you  can  say  more  than  that  you  will  do  your 
best  to  bring  them  back.  Now,  all  I  shall  promise  is 
this :  if  you  bring  the  men  back  to-morrow,  I  will  see 
that  your  position  in  the  works  is  improved." 

"That's  rather  hard  lines,  Mr.  Sartwell.  Marsten 
brought  on  the  strike,  and  you  offer  him  the  assistant 
managership.  I  end  the  strike,  and  you  will  make  no 
definite  terms." 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


365 


"  I  offered  Marsten  the  position  before  the  strike 
began.  Once  the  fight  was  on,  it  had  to  be  fought  to 
a  finish.  The  finish  has  come,  and  I  think  you  had 
better  accept  the  only  terms  I  can  offer.  Don't  you 
see  that,  if  I  were  not  a  man  of  my  word,  I  could 
easily  promise  you  anything,  and  then  discharge  you 
a  month  hence?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  trust  to  your  generosity,  Mr.  Sartwell. 
Now,  what  will  you  promise  to  the  men  ?  " 

"What  do  they  ask?" 

"  They  wish  you  to  discharge  all  the  blacklegs  you 
have  engaged." 

"  I'm  afraid.  Gibbons,  I  cannot  promise  that  either. 
I  will,  however,  send  home  all  who  want  to  go  and 
can  find  situations,  but  your  men  will  not  suffer  on 
account  of  the  new  employees.  I  have  work  enough 
for  you  all ;  there  will  be  plenty  to  do  to  make  up  for 
lost  time." 

"  You  practically  offer  us  nothing,  Mr.  Sartwell." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do ;  I  am  conceding  more  than  you 
think.  I  said  in  my  wrath,  when  the  men  went  cut, 
that  I  would  never  again  allow  a  Union  man  to  set 
foot  in  the  works ;  but  now  that  they  have  chosen  a 
moderate,  sensible  secretary,  I  am  willing  to  have  them 
come  back,  allowing  them  still  to  remain  in  the  Union. 
Is  that  nothing  ?  I  think  I  have  been  most  concilia- 
tory under  the  circumstances." 

"The  meeting  is  still  in  session,  Mr.  Sartwell. 
W"3uld  you  mind  coming  with  me  and  telling  the  men 
that  you  will  guarantee  every  one  a  place,  and  that 
you  will  not  interfere  with  their  membership  of  the 
Union  ?"^ 

"  I  don't  mind  going  with  you,  but  you  can  prob- 
ably make  more  out  of  the  concessions  than  I,  for 
you  are  more  eloquent  on  your  feet.  I  will  simply 
corroborate  what  you  say,  and  tell  the  men  the  gates 
will  be  open  for  them  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  just 
wait  for  me  at  the  gate.  I  have  a  few  orders  to  give 
my  commissionaire." 


^mrr 


366 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


*^J 


at!i 


The  uniformed  man  answered  Sartwell's  call,  and 
stood  like  a  statue  to  receive  his  orders.  The  manager 
closed  the  door. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  much  sleep  for  you  to- 
night, Commissionaire,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  but 
we  will  make  that  up  to  you  in  some  other  way,  and 
when  the  men  come  back  to-morrow  you  may  sleep 
the  whole  of  the  following  week,  if  you  like.  As  soon 
as  Gibbons  and  I  are  away,  and  you  have  closed  the 
oflfice,  I  want  you  to  search  for  Marsten.  You  will 
likely  find  him  in  his  room.  I  don't  know  where  he 
lives,  but  that  you  will  have  to  find  out — quietly,  you 
understand.  Ask  him  from  me  to  give  you  back  the 
letter  you  brought  to  him  this  evening.  If  he  refuses, 
ask  him  not  to  show  it  to  any  one  until  he  sees  me  in 
the  morning." 

The  commissionaire  brought  his  heels  together 
sharply,  and  presently  went  forth  on  his  vain  search ; 
for  Marsten,  unconscious,  had  been  taken  in  an  ambu- 
lance to  St.  Martyrs'  Hospital,  with  the  remnants  of 
the  letter  firmly  clutched  in  his  clenched  fist. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Again  it  was  the  last  train  to  Wimbledon  ;  but 
Sartwell,  tired  as  he  was,  strode  home  from  the 
station  with  the  springy  step  of  a  young  man.  Edna 
waiting  for  her  father  in  spite  of  his  prohibition,  heard 
the  step  with  a  thrill  of  hope.  When  he  came  in 
there  was  a  smile  on  his  face  such  as  she  had  not  seen 
lor  weeks. 

hal  ha'pp"n"e§  ! ''''  '^^  "^^''  ">^°"  ^^"  "^^^^^^^  ^^^^ 

the  Jtdke^" '''''''"  ^^"^  ^"s^e^ecl;    "  Marsten  has  ended 

"  No  the  strike  has  ended  Marsten.  He  has  been 
deposed,  and  Gibbons  has  been  elected  in  his  place 
Gibbons,  unselfish  man,  at  once  Came  to  me  to  make 
terms  for  himself.  So  the  works  will  be  open  to-mor- 
row  ;  and  when  the  next  strike  comes,  let  us  hope, 
unlike  John  Gilpin,  I  won't  be  there  to  see  " 

chln^e"?  '^^^^  "^""^^  ^'*  ^^'^^^"  ^^y  ^°  ^'h^s  sudden 
"  I  didn't  see  him.     I  suppose  he  has  gone  to  his 
room  to  meditate  on  the  mutability  of  the  workine- 
man.  ^ 

**  I  am  glad  you  didn't  send  that  letter." 
"Ah,  but  the  funny  thing  about  it  is  that  I  did 
send  It.  My  commissionaire  is  probably  at  this  mo- 
ment  scouring  London  to  find  Marsten  and  get  it 
back.  It  would  be  rather  a  turning  of  the  tables 
It  Marsten,  in  revenge,  were  to  publish  the  letter 
I  don  t  think  he  will  do  it,  but  one  can  never  teP' 
1  confess  it  would  be  a  strong  temptation  to  me,  were 


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368 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


INttJ    ii 


■1  .  I 


I  in  his  place  ;  however,  I  hope  for  the  best,  and  have 
charged  the  commissionaire  to  get  him  to  do  nothing 
about  it  until  after  he  has  seen  me." 

"  Do  you  still  intend  to  offer  him  a  place  in  the 
works?  " 

"That  will  depend.  If  his  experience  has  driven 
all  the  visionary  nonsense  about  the  regeneration  of 
the  workingman  out  of  his  head,  he  will  be  a  most 
valuable  man  for  any  firm  to  have  in  its  service.  I 
will  see  how  the  land  lies  when  I  talk  with  him." 

"You  have  no  feeling  against  him  then,  father?" 

"None  in  the  least.  Just  the  opposite.  I  have  the 
greatest  admiration  for  the  way  he  conducted  the 
fight." 

"  You  will  not  resign,  will  you  ?  " 

Sartwell  laughed. 

"  I  think  not.  There  will  be  a  lot  to  do,  and  I  shall 
want  to  be  in  the  thick  of  it.  No,  our  Continental 
trip  is  postponed,  Edna.  Why,  my  girl,  you've  been 
crying,  all  alone  here  by  yourself !  Tit,  tut,  Edna, 
that  will  never  do  1  I  thought  you  had  more  courage 
than  myself — not  that  I've  had  any  too  much  these 
last  few  days.  Go  to  bed,  girlie,  and  have  a  good 
sleep.  I  want  to  be  off  early  in  the  morning,  so  you 
may  have  the  privilege  of  being  my  sole  companion  at 
breakfast.  Good-night,  my  dear,"  he  added,  kissing 
her,  **and  here's  luck  to  all  our  future  battles!" 

Edna  was  the  first  afoot  in  the  morning,  and  the 
night's  sleep,  short  as  it  was,  had  smoothed  away  all 
traces  of  the  emotion  of  the  night  before.  Youth  has 
a  glorious  recuperative  power,  and  Sartwell,  when  a 
little  later  he  came  wearily  down  the  stair,  showed 
that  sleep  had  not  dipped  him  in  the  fountain  of  it. 
,  Even  the  conqueror  has  to  pay  some  tribute  for  the 
victory.  He  seemed  tired  as  he  took  his  place  at 
the  breakfast-table  and  unfolded  the  morning  paper. 
Years  of  not  too  congenial  married  life  had  developed 
in  him  the  reprehensible  habit  of  reading  his  paper 
while  he  sipped  his  coffee,  and  not  even  the  presence 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


369 


of  his  daughter  opposite  him  could  break  him  of  the 
vice ;  although  he  had  the  grace  to  apologize,  which 
he  sometimes  forgot  to  do  when  his  wife  was  pouring 
the  coffee. 

"  I  just  want  to  see  if  the  paper  has  anything  to  say 
about  the  ending  of  the  strike,  my  dear." 

She  smiled  at  him,  and  asked  him  to  read  what  the 
paper  said.  A  moment  later  she  was  startled  by  an 
exclamation  from  him. 

**  Good  heavens ! "  he  cried.  *'  I  had  no  idea  of 
this !  There  seems  to  have  been  a  riot  at  the  meet- 
ing— five  men  arrested,  and  two  in  the  hospital — 
Marsten — by  Jove  ! — trampled  under  foot — never  re- 
gained consciousness — life  in  grave  danger!  I  say, 
Edna,  this  is  serious  !  " 

There  was  no  reply,  and  Sartwell,  looking  up,  saw 
Edna,  standing  with  pallid  cheeks  and  lips  parted, 
swaying  slightly  from  side  to  side. 

He  sprang  up,  and  supported  her  with  his  arm. 

"  My  girl,  my  little  girl !  "  he  cried.  "What  is  the 
matter?     What  is  this  to  you  ?  " 

Her  head  sank  against  his  breast,  and  she  said  in  a 
quavering  whisper,  broken  by  a  sob : 

"  It  is  everything  to  me,  father,  everything ! " 

He  patted  her  affectionately  on  the  shoulder. 

"Is  it  so,  my  darling,  is  it  so?  I  was  afraid  once 
that  was  the  case,  but  I  thought  you  had  forgotten. 
There,  don't  cry ;  it  is  sure  to  be  all  right.  The 
papers  generally  exaggerate  these  things.  Come,  let 
us  have  breakfast,  and  we  will  both  go  to  the  hospital 
together." 

Edna's  desire  for  breakfast  was  gone,  but  she  made 
a  pretense  of  eating  and  then  hurried  to  get  ready  and 
accompany  her  father.  It  was  so  early  that  they  had 
a  first-class  compartment  to  themselves,  the  travel 
city-wards  not  having  begun  for  the  day. 

Edna  was  silent,  and  nothing  had  been  said  from  the 
house  to  the  station.  When  they  were  in  the  train, 
her  father  spoke  with  some  hesitation. 


mrwT 


1 


370 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


^^ 

2a 

■ ' '  >Sii 

^k'  HHilS 

|-ff? 

i      ;     ■ 

"  Edna,  have  you  seen  Marsten  since  the  time  when 
I  found  you  together  in  the  garden?" 

"Yes,  father;  twice." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  answer,  my  dear,  unless  you 
care  to  do  so.     Where  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything  ;  I  was  willing  to  tell  you 

any  time if  you  had  asked  me.    I  didn't  speak  of 

him  to  you  because 1  didn't  like  to." 

"Of  course,  girlie.  I  understand.  You  needn't 
speak  now,  if  you  would  rather  not." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  know.  The  first  time  was  at 
Eastbourne,  shortly  after  I  went  there.  He  managed 
to  get  unseen  into  the  school  garden,  and  he  told  me 

that he    said  he   hoped we   would  be  married 

some  day.  I  told  him  it  was  impossible.  I  thought 
so then." 

"  That  was  two  years  ago  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  hovered  about  the  firm  lips  of 
Sartwell ;  but  the  corners  of  Edna's  mouth  drooped 
pathetically,  and  she  seemed  on  the  verge  of  tears. 
She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  floor  of  the  carriage. 

"  There  was  not  much  use  of  an  angry  father's  pre- 
cautions, was  there,  Edna?" 

"  I  did  not  know,  until  he  spoke,  that  you  objected 
to  my  meeting  him.  If  you  had  told  me,  I  would  not 
have  spoken  to  him  at  Eastbourne." 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't,  my  dear.  Don't  think  I 
am  blaming  you  in  the  least.  I  was  merely  thinking 
that  I  am  not  nearly  as  far-seeing  as  I  thought.  And 
the  second  time,  Edna?" 

"  That  was  last  night.  I  drove  to  the  Salvation  Hall 
and  asked  him  to  stop  the  strike.     I  told  him " 

Edna  began  to  cry  afresh.  Her  father,  who  had 
been  sitting  opposite  her,  crossed  to  her  side,  and  put 
his  arm  about  her. 

"  Don't  say  another  word,  my  dear,  and  don't  think 
about  it.  I'll  not  ask  you  another  question.  You 
mustn't  make   people  think   you   have   been   crying. 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


371 


They  will  imagine  I  have  been  scolding  you,  and  thus 
you  will  destroy  my  well-won  reputation  for  being  the 
mildest  man  in  London." 

The  girl  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  nothing  more 
was  said  until  they  reached  the  hospital  door. 

**  How  is  Marsten,  who  was  brought  here  last 
night?  "  inquired  Sartwell,  of  the  doctor  who  received 
him. 

"  Oh,  getting  on  very  well,  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

"  The  papers  say  his  condition  is  dangerous." 

"  I  don't  anticipate  any  danger,  unless  there  are 
internal  injuries  that  we  know  nothing  of.  Some  of 
his  ribs  are  broken,  and  he  got  a  nasty  blow  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  He  seems  rather  weak  and  dispirited 
this  morning,  but  his  mind  is  clear.  I  was  somewhat 
anxious  about  that,  for  he  was  a  long  time  uncon- 
scious." 

"  There,"  said  Sartwell  to  his  daughter,  who  stood 
with  parted  lips  listening  intently  to  what  the  doctor 
said.  "  I  told  you  the  papers  made  the  case  out 
worse  than  it  was.     Might  we  see  Mr.  Marsten  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  wouldn't  make  him  talk  very  much,  if 
I  were  you." 

"  We  shall  be  very  careful.  I  think,  you  know,  it 
will  cheer  him  up  to  see  us,  but  you  might  ask  him  if 
he  would  rather  we  came  another  time.  My  name  is 
Sartwell." 

Word  was  brought  back  that  Marsten  would  be 
glad  to  see  them.  They  found  him  in  an  alcove,  cur- 
tained off,  like  other  alcoves,  from  the  rest  of  the 
ward.  His  face  was  not  disfigured,  but  was  very  pale. 
He  cast  one  rapid  glance  at  the  girl,  shrinking  back 
behind  her  father,  then  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  his  old 
employer. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Sartwell,  cheerily,  "  I'm 
sorry  to  see  you  on  your  back,  but  I'm  glad  to  learn 
from  the  doctor  that  you  will  be  all  right  in  a  few 
days." 


^ 


372 


THE  MUTABLE  MANY. 


I 


1^1 


m 


hi      .      !-■  J 


"  Have  the  men have  they gone  back  ?  "  Mar- 

sten  asked,  in  a  faint  whisper. 

"  Don't  bother  about  the  men.  I'm  looking  after 
them.     Yes,  they've  come  back." 

Marsten  tried  feebly  to  lift  his  head,  but  it  sank 
back  again. 

*'  The  letter,"  he  whispered,  "  what  is  left  of  it 

is  under  the  pillow,  I  think." 

Sartwell  put  his  hand  under  the  pillow  and  pulled 
forth  the  tattered  document. 

"  You  intend  me  to  have  this  ?  " 

Marsten,  with  a  faint  motion  of  his  head,  signified 
his  assent,  and  Sartwell,  with  some  relief,  placed  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"  Now,  my  lad,  you  must  hurry  up  and  get  well. 
There  will  be  stirring  times  at  the  works,  and  I  shall 
need  the  best  help  I  can  get.  I'm  depending  on  you 
to  be  my  assistant,  you  know." 

The  young  man's  eyelids  quivered  for  a  moment, 
then  closed  over  his  eyes.  Two  tears  stole  out  from 
the  corners  and  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  His  throat 
rose  and  fell. 

"  I'm  a  bit  shattered,"  he  whispered  at  last.  "  I'm 
not  quite  myself but,  I  thank  you." 

"  That's  all  right,  my  boy.  Here's  a  young  person 
who  can  talk  to  you  more  like  a  nurse  than  I  can.  I 
must  see  about  your  having  a  private  room  and  all 
the  comforts  of  the  place  while  you  are  here." 

Edna  took  his  hand  when  her  father  had  left  the 
room.  Marsten  looked  up  at  her,  standing  there  be- 
side him. 

"  It  came  to  the  same in  the  end didn't  it  ?  " 

he  said,  with  a  faint,  wavering  smile. 

For  answer  she  bent  over  him  and  kissed  him  softly 
on  the  lips. 


f-'^-f-^t 


:i  -. 


THE  END. 


t::S   i'-ji 


S[Y. 

)ne  back?"  Mar- 
in looking  after 
ead,  but  it  sank 

is  left  of  it 

How  and  pulled 


s  head,  signified 
lief,  placed  it  in 

p  and  get  well, 
orks,  and  I  shall 
pending  on  you 

i  for  a  moment, 
5  stole  out  from 
:ks.     His  throat 

1  at  last.     "  I'm 


a  young  person 
e  than  I  can.  I 
e  room  and  all 
e  here." 

ler  had  left  the 
nding  there  be- 


-didn't  it?" 


issed  him  softly 


